


Dire Consequences

by pintsandguitars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Don't know how graphic it will be though, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mysterious!Zayn, Roomates AU, Smut, Triggers, a little Niam, larry - Freeform, slow development, some voilence, violence mentioned, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintsandguitars/pseuds/pintsandguitars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall has issues he's good at hiding. Zayn has issues he'd good at running away from. </p><p>But hiding and running away are never good. </p><p>Then they meet each other and fall in love. It's a fucked up situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Though, if you want to beta my work, please let me know! Hope you like it <3
> 
> \-- B

“Harry, you fucking cock-sucker!” Niall bellows as he wraps a towel angrily around his body. His eyes sting from the shampoo still on his head, and he vows that today is the day he will cut Harry Styles’ dick off.

Stomping out of the bathroom, he is greeted with a blur of brown hair and blue eyes running past him. _Louis_. He should have known. What is Harry without Louis?

Peering over to the couch, he sees two heads of brown hair hidden behind it, one curly and the other not so much. Niall is angry and Niall _never_ gets angry.

“Okay. Ha ha. You’ve had your fucking fun. Now turn the damn water back on, Harry. I have a job interview in half an hour!”

The curly head pops up, revealing a pair of bright green eyes. Eyes that are currently filled with an abundance of mischief.

“Hey, Niall. Nice ‘do,” he says in a slow drawl. There is a flash of teeth and appearance of dimples. Those _fucking_ dimples.

The damn scoundrel is smirking.

“Harry.” Niall says, sternly. Usually, he’s all for jokes and pranks. Hell, when Louis suggests it, he’s the first one to the fridge to grab the whip cream. But today was _not_ the day.

Harry’s smirk falls, noticing the shift in the blonde’s demeanor.

“Lou, turn the water on,” he says to the other head still hidden behind the couch. The second brunette pops up, striking blue eyes matching the mischief present in Harry a few moments ago.

“Harry, wha-” Louis starts to say, but then Harry curtly nods at Niall, whose expression shuts the boy right up.

“Water. On.” Niall warns them with a solid glare, then with a sharp turn, heads back into the shower. He’s glad to come back to running water.

\--

Niall has his head in his hands. He has a pounding headache that doesn’t seem to go away no matter how many aspirins he takes.

He’s stressed. Niall doesn’t _do_ stressed.

There is a short rap at the door, and then it’s pushed open.

“Niall? You okay?” a deep, kind voice says. Niall looks up to find Liam standing by the door. His brows are furrowed and he is looking at Niall with great concern.

Niall feels his stomach flutter.

“Liam…” he sighs, and Liam walks over to the couch where the blonde is sitting.

“I’m guessing not?” he places a large, warm hand on Niall shoulder and Niall feels tingles shoot up his arms.

Niall looks up, into a pair of warm, chocolate coloured eyes. They’re filled with worry.

Niall manages a small smile. “It’s just…stuff,” he concludes, waving his hand around dismissively.

Liam gives his shoulder a small squeeze. The tingles are shooting all the way down to his toes now. “You can tell me. Maybe I can help?” he offers, giving Niall a warm smile.

Everything about Liam is warm, Niall notices. He wishes he could just curl up into Liam’s lap and just soak it all up.

“Well, that arsehole Kevin? He just raised our rent by like £500 a month because of the park that got built behind the building. He says that our room has a view now and he can charge much more for it. So either we pay up, or we move out,” he explains. He just wants to sleep and not deal with all of this.

“What? You can’t move out!” Liam exclaims, his eyes widening and his mouth popping into a tiny ‘o’.

“Well, what else can we do? My job interview yesterday was absolute shit! And Harry’s not even taking it seriously because when it comes down to it, he could easily just move in with Louis. I’d be the one out on the streets without a place to stay.” Niall hates worrying. He’s a carefree person. Carefree people don’t worry. This is taking a serious toll on his personality.

“You could, uhm…” Liam bites his lip in thought, and Niall heart beat quickens a few paces. Liam has these lips that are just rubbed _so_ red, and hell, they really should not be legal.

Niall may just have a _little_ crush on Liam Payne. Unfortunately, so does Liam’s girlfriend.

“What about the study?” Liam asks “Can’t you rent that out?”

Niall had already contemplated this. He shakes his at Liam. “I did think of that but the study is too damn small for someone to pay £500 for it.”

Liam sighs, back to chewing his lip again. Niall wants to chew it for him instead. _Ugh_.

“Wait, I have an idea.” Liam pipes up, his eyes lit bright. “What if you or Harry move into the study? It’s not really that small that it can’t be used as a room!”

Hm.

“Actually, yeah that’s not too bad of an idea. And I can probably convince Harry to move in their since he never stays here anyway.” This was starting to sound better and better. Niall looks over at Liam who is shaking his manically, a lips pulled into a sweet smile.

Weighing the circumstances, Niall decides this is an appropriate enough time to hug Liam. And so he does. He might have held on a _little_ longer than what would’ve been considered a friendly hug, but Liam had just saved him from becoming homeless. It was due.

And if he did wank off to the smell of Liam’s cologne in the shower later, no one really had to know.

\--

“Roommate.” Harry contemplates. “Roommate. Rooooomate. Roommaaaaaate. Roo—”

“I swear to god, Harry Styles, I will end you.” Niall says, smacking the brunette over the side of his head.

“Ow!” Harry complains, but it’s doubtful he really feels anything under all that cushioning from the curls.

“Well?” Niall is bouncing in his seat, eyes wide, shit-eating grin plastered.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

Niall could almost kiss him. Almost. Instead he opts for a hug, squeezing Harry until the brunette smacks him on the arm and tells him he can’t breathe.

“Harry, you’re —” Niall starts to say, but is promptly cut off.

“A life saver. I know, I know. I only accept displays of gratitude in forms of cash payment. Or cheques, which ever more convenient,” he says, waving his hand pompously.

 “Actually, I was going to say a bloody moron. The roommate was happening whether you agreed to it or not.” Niall tells him, shrugging.

Harry’s mouth falls to an offended expression. “What do you mean it was happening whether or not I agreed to it? I live here too!”

“Yeah. Except that you sleep, eat and shit at Louis'. I don’t understand why you don’t just move in with him, you practically live there anyway.” Niall points out, and Harry’s expression settles into a pout.

 “Mum says I’m not old enough to move in with him yet,” he informs Niall, and Niall can’t help but laugh brazenly at this. He is clutching his stomach soon enough.

“”s not that funny.” Harry grumbles, the pout deepening into a frown. This boy is too damn endearing. Niall reaches out and tugs on one of his curls.

“It’s hilarious, curly.”

Managing to break his pout eventually, the two fall into pits of laughter. Niall can feel his carefreeness settling in again. “ _I missed you, buddy_ ” he tells himself fondly, more than glad that brief glance at normalness was exactly that. Brief.

\-- 

“Whaddya think?!” Niall asks, slamming a newspaper down on top of all of Harry’s school books.

“You put an advert in the local paper?” Harry looks up at his through his glasses. Niall nods his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Great. No one but freaks weirdos reads the newspaper. We’re going to end up with a serial killer or a fucking Brony.”

"If they pay, I'll even help hide the bodies," he tells Harry, laughter erupting from his chest. Harry rolls his eyes as the newspaper but smirks nonetheless.  
  
"Now all we have to do is wait for a call."  
  
\--  
  
The call comes at exactly 1:57pm, Niall's embarrassing Frank Sinatra ring tone blaring during his Classics lectures. Swearing under his breath, he goes to turn it off as the professor turns to stare at him. If looks could kill, he’d be well underground by now.

  
"Sorry!" he squeaks, and the professor narrows her eyes at him. Thankfully, she goes back to the presentation on Mozart's compositions, and Niall quickly checks his caller I.D.  
  
 [[Missed Call: Unknown number: (01582) 448267]]  
  
[[1 Voicemail]]  
  
Putting his phone back into his back, he forces his attention to boring drawl of the professor.  
  
After what feels like an eternity (but was really just half an hour) Niall pushes open the doors of his lecture hall to be greeted by an unnatural amount of sun for London.  
  
Pulling out his cell phone, he dials voicemail.  
  
"One new voicemail from 01582 448267 at 1:59 pm" the automated voice drones.  
  
Then a deep, almost sultry voice is pouring through his phone speakers "Hello. I am calling for Niall Horan regarding his advert in the newspaper? About the flat? I would like to set up a viewing time if it's still available. My name is Zayn Malik and my cell number is 01582 448267. Call me whenever you can.  Thanks."  
  
There is a beep signalling the end of the message and Niall can't help but squeal loudly in delight.  
  
Students passing by raise an eyebrow at him, some whispering to their friends, but Niall really just _does not_ care.  
  
Hurrying down the sidewalk to get away from the noise, Niall dials the number that the guy, or rather, _Zayn_ , has given.  
  
After a couple rings, Niall hears the same sultry voice from the voicemail "Hello," it's quipped and passive, nothing like the way Niall usually greets his callers.  
  
"Hello. Uhm, Zayn Malik?"  
  
"Speaking." The other end crackles  
  
"Hello Zayn! This is Niall. You called about the apartment?"  
  
There's a pause. "Yes. It's still available?"  
  
"Yes, it is. When's a good time for you to swing by to check it out?"  
  
"Uhm, whenever."  
  
Niall racks through his brain, trying to come up with a time slot that works for both him and Harry.  
  
"How about 2:00pm tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"See you then!"  
  
"Alright." Zayn hangs up before Niall has a chance to say goodbye.  
  
Not many words on this one. But who cares? Not like he needs anymore talking in his life. Harry takes up as much time speaking as two people would anyway.  
  
\--  
  
"We got a call!" Niall shouts into his apartment as soon as he unlocks the door. Harry pops out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.  
  
"Serial killer or brony?" he asks, raising his eyebrow.  
  
"A serial killing brony," Niall replies.  
  
"We'll get along wonderfully then."  
  
Niall snorts. "He's coming by tomorrow at 2:00 so maybe wear some pants, yeah? We want to appear at least half normal."  
  
"I don't believe in false advertising," Harry says before turning around to head back into his room.

“You cheeky fucker!” Niall calls after him, chuckling and this earns him a very flamboyant arse shake from Harry.

Rolling his eyes, Niall opens the fridge, vaguely thinking about how the new roommate would react to the likeness of Harry Styles. Maybe he’ll just lock Harry in his room around 2:00pm tomorrow.

\--

 It’s 1:57 and Niall is hauling his ass off the bus and running into his building. He’d missed the bus because goddamn Liam had wanted to borrow his Musical Theory notes and how could he have said no to goddamn _Liam?_ His arse suddenly vibrates and he pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket as he’s unlocking the door into his building.

            From: Harry

            Maaate, where are you? If he does really turn out to be a killer, I need you to shield me.

_Wanker._

He shoots Harry and hurriedly typed texted telling him he was on his way, and rushes to the elevator just as its doors are closing.

“Hey! Catch the door!” he hollers to the person inside and is glad when a hand is wedged between the doors just as it’s about to close. Panting, he slips inside and releases a quick sigh. “Thanks mate. Not many nice ones like you left.”

He turns his head to grin at his saviour and---

_Oh._

“Sure.”

If Niall had been any other boy, perhaps one that wasn’t interested in boys, the person standing in front of him would have been just another bloke who held the elevator doors open for him. If he had been asked to describe this person, as a boy who was strictly not into other boys, he would have said that the boy had brown hair and brown eyes. He might even have grudgingly agreed that, yes, he was a kind of handsome.

But, the fact of the matter was, Niall was _very much_ interested in boys.

And if someone ever asked him to describe the person standing in front him, he would have blushed and stammered and avoided the subject all together. Because the bloke standing in front of him wasn’t just handsome, he was—well he was _beautiful._

Soft eyes the colour of hazelnuts with golden flecks in them, cheekbones that could cut diamonds, a slim pair of lips that reminded Niall of fresh strawberries all firm and pink.

And good god, Niall fucking _loved_ strawberries. He just wanted to grab that pretty face and--  
  
"Floor?" the lips were moving, speaking to him. Floor?

Suddenly, an image of this beautiful man laying down on the floor of this elevator fucking him senseless flashes across his eyes. He feels a shiver run through his spine.  
  
"Excuse me?" Niall huffs at the stranger’s forwardness, his cheeks burning bright red.  
  
The man smirks at him, raising an eyebrow. Niall's pretty sure if he died right about now, he wouldn't even mind very much. "Floor?" the man repeats. He's pointing to the row of blinking button on one of the walls.  
  
Oh, _floor_.  
  
"3rd." He manages to cough out, chuckling at his wild imagination. But looking over to the buttons, he sees that the button labelled “3” is already blinking. He starts to wonder who that man could possibly be visiting. As far as he’s aware, there aren’t any stunningly gorgeous women that live on his floor that could possibly match up to the enigma standing next to him.

  
The elevator ride is quiet, as elevator rides usually are. To make use of the moments granted to him, he manages to steal a few more looks his elevator buddy. He makes this dull, grey elevator seem like the backdrop for a glamorous photo shoot. Niall wonders if he’s a model. With those cheekbones, it wouldn’t be fair to the world if he wasn’t.  
  
As the elevator stops at floor three, they both shuffle out and Niall turns down to his hallway, planning on stealing one last glance at the stranger.  
  
But it turns out he doesn't have to strategize all too much because the stranger is calling out to him. "Excuse me?"  
  
Niall spins around, ready to give his soul away if the man asks for it. "Do you know where flat number 313 is?"  
  
313\. That sounded familiar.  
  
Really familiar.  
  
Niall takes a deep breath, hoping this is some sort of mistake. Maybe the man meant 331. "Zayn Malik?" he asks, rocks heavy on his chest.  
  
"Niall Horan?"  
  
Well fuck.  
\--

"Yep, that's me" he forces a grin, holding his hand out to Zayn.  
  
Zayn places his hand in Niall and shakes it, sending awfully pleasant tingles down Niall's arm.  
  
"This way."  
  
Leading Zayn to his flat, he desperately tries to remind himself that he really needs the rent money. Plus, it wasn't like Zayn was  _that_  attractive anyway.  
  
Turning around to steal a quick glance at Zayn, Niall watches him saunter down the dimly-lit hallway, looking every bit like a model walking down the runway at a high-end fashion show.  
  
Okay, so he really _really_  needs rent money.  
  
"One second…" he tells Zayn once they reach the door to his flat and Zayn gives him a small smile.  
  
Unlocking the door, he pokes his head inside without opening the door too ajar, in case Harry was lounging around in his birthday suit again (“It’s freeing” is his argument).  
  
"Harry!" he calls out, and a curly head pops out from behind the fridge, followed by a fully clothed body. "Nice to see you dressed. Almost forgot what that looked like."  
  
Harry winks at him, dimples appearing on his cheeks and Niall finally opens to door to let Zayn in.  
  
He sees Harry's green eyes widen as the other brunette strolls into the room. So it's not just him, then.  
  
"Hey, I'm Harry!" he shouts, supplying his most charming smile that he usually saves only for a certain blue-eyed boy who strangely resembles a pixie.  
  
"Hey," Zayn says lazily, Harry's charm not affecting him the least. Niall catches Harry pout and chuckles to himself.  
  
"So, whacha think?" Niall asks Zayn, who is craning his neck from here to there, eyes blatantly scanning the flat.  
  
"Which one would be my room?" Zayn asks, and Niall leads them Harry’s former room. The windows are massive, with an ample amount of natural light pouring into the space.  
  
Zayn saunters in slowly. Niall notices that everything about him is a little groggy, a little listless if not dull.

Even with the sharp features and beautiful eyes, there was a glow missing from his face that people their age usually carried.

Mostly, Niall notices, Zayn just looks worn out.    
  
"Cool." is all he says after looking at the room, his voice not reflecting any emotion. It too, was a bit lethargic.  
  
"So?" Harry is leaning against the doorway, very obviously checking Zayn out. Niall wants to shove him, and shove him hard.  
  
"Yeah, it's cool. What's the rent again?"  
  
"£500 per month, everything included." Niall informs him and Zayn gives him a curt nod.  
  
"Alright. Yeah, I'll take it. When can I move in?"

Niall feels his heart drop to his knees.

\--

 “Well, fuck. That is one  _sexy_ man.” Harry whistles after Zayn leaves.

“Want me to tell your boyfriend?” Niall teases, poking Harry’s dimples.

“Yes, please! How fucking hot would our threesome be?” Harry grins wide and Niall gags, pulling a much disturbed face.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s attractive!” Harry says, raising his eyebrow questionably at Niall.

Niall shrugs him off with “Eh, he’s okay. If you’re into that sort of troubled, angry young man kind of look.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Harry asks him, licking his lips. Niall shrugs again. He’s learnt by now that if he does enough shrugging, people usually stop pushing the subject. And this is something he really does not want to talk about.

Harry’s eyes narrow at him, skepticism clearly evident on his face. Niall keeps his expression indifferent. Letting Harry find out about this—this  _infatuation?_ —was equivalent to posing stark naked in front of Big Ben. Guaranteed to appear among all the headlines.

Harry’s face finally falls back into his usual smirk and a twinkle of mischief glints off his jade-like eyes. “Yeah, alright. I guess you’re too busy lusting after straight men with chocolate coloured eyes and deliciously toned biceps, anyway.” With a wink, he’s out the door, leaving a sputtering Niall whose mouth is hanging right off his jaw.

\--

Louis remembers that day like it was yesterday. It was a Saturday and the sun was shining bright, which was an unusual occurrence if you lived in London. Liam had been begging him to go running together, and Louis had decided that that day, well, that day was definitely not today. Instead, Louis had opted for a beer out in their patio, with London in full view.

“People watching again?” Liam had asked. Louis nodded his head vigorously, taking a long sip of his ice cold Guinness. “I don’t know why you do that so much.” Liam had admitted, shaking his head.

“Well, Mr. Liam Payne, I need to keep an eye out for my soul mate, don’t I?” he had said, raising his eyebrows at Liam like it should be the most obvious thing.

“Yeah, alright you fucking weirdo. I’m going to go for a few rounds around the block. See you in a bit!” With a swift tie-up of his runners, Liam was out the door in thirty seconds.

When Louis had first met Liam in back in Year 1, he had not understood the kid at all. He was the only five year old who would sit on the pavement during recess and colour instead of running around screaming his head off. When Louis, being Louis, had asked him why he did that and Liam had told him it was because he didn’t like playing. The next day, Louis had brought his own colouring book and offered to share his 64 pack crayons with Liam. It was then that Liam had told him he didn’t play with anyone because he thought no one wanted be his friend. Louis had told him that he would be Liam’s friend no matter what, and that was true to this very day.

Now, a good seventeen years into their friendship, Louis could proudly say that he still  _did not_  understand Liam.

Shaking his head at the persona that was his best friend, Louis sat up a little more in his lawn chair and craned his neck to watch the busy people of London hustling and bustling about. He noticed a large moving van parked right out in front of his building. A blonde boy wearing a green snapback was trying to lift a coffee table out of the van all by himself, and Louis couldn’t help but laugh at his struggle.

“Oi, need some help down there?” he had shouted to the blonde head.

The boy looked around trying to locate his caller. Louis waved his hand and offered up his friendliest grin. If there was one thing Louis Tomlinson was good at, it was making new friends.

The boy took of his snapback and brought his hands to rest at his hip, squinting at Louis.  _Hmm, cute kid._

“Sure, if you don’t mind!” he called out, his speech twanged with an Irish accent.

And that was how Louis had ended up grabbing another bear and heading downstairs to help out.

“I’m Niall,” the blonde boy had introduced “And thanks for the beer. Life saver, you are!” He grinned at Louis and Louis had decided he already liked this kid. The radiated happiness, and it made you want to be happy when you’re around him.

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson. And you’re welcome.” Louis and replied, offering a hand to Niall. Instead of a casual handshake, the Irish lad has grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hug.

Well then.

“So, what floor are you on?” Louis inquired while the blonde cocked his head at the coffee table, trying to figure out a way to get it inside.

“3rd. Flat 313.” Niall had replied, scratching his head.

Louis eyes had blown wide. “No way! We’re 311!”

“Neighbours the, innit?” Niall had exclaimed, grin growing brighter. All in all, Louis was glad. Niall bent down to pick up the table and Louis followed suit.

“So, you’re living alone then?” Louis grunted. The table was heavy.

“Nah. My mate, Harry. He’s inside, figuring out the paper work.” Niall told him. “Ah, there he is now.”

“Harry! This is Louis, our neighbour.” Niall shouted at him.

Louis turned around to face the building’s entrance and caught a tall, lanky figure with a mass of curly brown hair atop his head walking towards them.

 “Hey!” The curly brunette had said, a wide smile showing off his dimples.

Louis had then proceeded to dropping the coffee table on Niall’s foot.

\--

“You broke my toe!” Niall accuses, pointing is Louis’ direction. They are were all sitting in Niall’s and Harry’s living room, awaiting Zayn’s arrival.

“Good day, wasn’t it?” Harry says, winking at Louis and placing a quick peck on his cheeks.

“The best.” Louis agrees, nodding his head.

Liam and Niall pretend to gag.

“So, what’s he like anyway?” Liam asks.

“Quiet. Broody. Troubled, but hella sexy” Harry answers, earning him a piercing glare from Louis. “But in a bad boy kind of way. Totally  _not_  my type,” he covers hastily, trying to save face. Louis just huffs at him, rolling his eyes.

“I just think he’s shy,” Niall shrugs, not wanting to judge their flatmate so quickly. “He seems like a really cool guy.”

Liam and Harry exchange a  _look_ , and Niall pouts. “What? He does!”

“Babe, you always try and look for the good in everyone.” Harry says. Louis nods in agreement.

“So? That’s not a bad thing!” Niall argues, pout turning into a frown.

“We never said it was! Personally, I’m glad you’re like that. The cynical and sarcastic world of Louis and Harry gets really depressing sometimes.” Liam assures him, patting his on the back. Niall gives him a small smile.

“Liam’s my only real friend,” he proclaims to no one in particular, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis chuckles and Harry pulls him into a headlock. Cursing unforgivably, Niall manages to pinch the curly headed brunette arse, and pull free from the capture.

Wincing, Harry flips Niall off and rubs arse gently. Louis, catching on, offers his hand instead, whispering something into Harry’s ear that makes his ears go red.

Niall wants to shove both of them out the window.

“So, what time is he supposed to come anyway? We’ve been here for  _ages_!” Louis sighs dramatically, falling back into Harry’s arms.

“Uhm, he’s—” Niall starts to say, but then the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!”

Niall jumps up and runs to the door. Turning around to scan the flat one last time for anything that might scare Zayn off, he takes a deep breath.

“Hey!” he greets, a bright smile ready to go. Zayn is standing in the doorway in ripped black jeans, a black graphic tee and, even though is it 75°F outside, a black leather jacket looking every bit like a Vogue model.

Niall wants to take out his phone and snap a quick picture.

“Hey,” Zayn says coolly, sliding off the black shades resting on his face. Niall moves out of the way to let him inside.

Liam, Louis and Harry are all standing next to the television, smiling awkwardly. Zayn raises his eyebrow at them, but doesn’t say anything.

“So you’ve already met Harry. That’s Louis and Liam, they live next door. Or rather, we kind of share the two flats because Harry and Louis can’t go a second without each other.” Niall rambles, laughing nervously.

“Cool,” is all that Zayn says. His face is frozen into a state of indifference. His eyes slide from Louis to Liam to Harry. Niall can see Louis squirming.

“So, we were thinking about going down to Irving. We can help you unpack and head down there for dinner together!” Harry offers, eyes not moving from Zayn face.

Zayn’s eyes flit over to him and irritation flickers on his face. “No thanks. ‘M tired,” he says flatly.

Then, dragging his suitcase behind him, he walks into his bedroom and promptly slams the door shut.

Liam’s mouth pops into a small ‘O’, and Harry and Louis look at each other with wide eyes.

“Well…that was sufficiently awkward.” Louis declares, clasping his hands together. “Harry? Thoughts?”

“I’m pretty sure the room’s temperature dropped a few degrees when he walked in,” Harry replies, wrapping his arms around his himself.

“Yeah. Not the friendliest lad,” Liam agrees, nodding his head at Harry.

“Maybe he really is just tired. I’m sure we’ll crack his shell open in a few days.” Niall offers hopefully. “C’mon, I’m starved. Let’s go!” 

Niall didn’t want to make assumptions about Zayn, especially not this early.  Everyone had a story, a story about why they are the way they are. He didn’t know Zayn’s story.

But for some reason, some reason Niall just could not grasp, he wants to learn more about this boy in the leather jacket. He wants to know why his beautiful eyes were so empty, why his lips can’t be tugged into a smile.

 _Soon enough,_  he thinks to himself.

Zayn’s bound to come out sometime. He couldn’t spend all his time in that room. And when he did, Niall would be waiting; waiting with curious eyes and attentive ears.

\--

Turns out that he actually could. Zayn could, indeed, spend all his time in his room. And he did.

In fact, Niall would go four to five days without ever catching a sight of him. And this caused a real problem because, sometimes, Niall would completely forget that Zayn even lived there.

And that was the reason that at this very moment, Niall was standing in front of Zayn completely butt-naked, his dick dangling between his thighs.

“Iforgotmytowel!” Niall all but yells at Zayn. He is absolutely flushed, heating reaching the very tips of his finger. An amused smile creeps up on Zayn’s face, defining those chiselled even cheekbones further. His hazelnut eyes travel down Niall’s torso and, as his eyes come to rest on Niall’s  _private parts_ , his tongue flicks out and slides over his bottom lip.

A tingling sensation passes over Niall’s cock, and he can feel an oncoming boner.

Realizing that he should probably cover himself, Niall quickly grabs a pillow of the couch.

Zayn’s eyes are still on him, and Niall swears that his hazelnuts eyes have turned to a dark chocolate. He’s been naked in front of people many times before, but never has he  _ever_  felt this exposed.

“Sorry!” he squeaks as he is walking around to his room backwards so Zayn doesn’t see his arse.

Zayn mumbles something but Niall doesn’t quite catch it. Or, he’s pretty sure he didn’t catch it because there is no way in hell Zayn would have said, “I don’t mind.”

Too mortified to say much else, Niall slams the door as soon as he gets to him room. He makes a mental note of leaving his towel in the bathroom from now on.

Looking down, he realizes that the mild boner has now turned into a full hard-on, erect and resting against his stomach.

Wrapping a hand around himself, he tugs gently. When he comes over his fingers, he certainly does not bite the back of his hand to keep from moaning Zayn’s name.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background on Larry! And drama. Enjoy! 
> 
> \-- B <3

When Harry and Niall had first told Louis they were brothers, he had choked on tea.

“Brothers?” Louis eyes were bulging right out of his head.

Harry had looked and Niall and Niall had just shrugged. “Yep.”

“That—that doesn’t make any sense!” Louis had sputtered. He had looked over at Liam, who was sat at the same table, brows furrowed. A smug smile tugged at Niall’s lips, and Harry had shared a similar expression.

“But you two have different last names. And Niall’s Irish!” Liam had pointed out, cocking his head to the side and squinting his eyes at the pair.

This conversation had come about because Louis had  _really_  wanted to ask Harry out, but he wasn’t sure if Niall and Harry just lived together or lived  _together_.

Louis had desperately hoped that they just lived together as mates and nothing else, because Harry’s bottle-green eyes and porn-star lips did things to Louis. They did some unspeakable  _things._

So, after begging for about a half-hour, Liam had finally succumbed to Louis pleas about finding out on his behalf.

“Danielle’s great, though. She’s studying to be a dancer at Lincoln.” Liam had somehow managed into the conversation. Louis sent silent a thank you to whoever had sent Liam Payne into his life.

“How long have you been together?” Niall had asked. If Louis had been paying attention to anything another than Harry’s  _large_  hands that were resting on the table, he might have noticed the flatness in Niall’s voice.

“A year and a half, soon.” Liam had told them with a thousand-watt grin. And if Liam hadn’t been too busy glancing over at Louis to make sure his best friend wasn’t having a mental breakdown, then he might have noticed Niall’s slight eye roll.

“So, what about you guys? Any special ladies?” Louis had casually inquired. It had been planned exactly like this, down to the precise wording. He was careful to say “ladies” because even if Harry and Niall weren’t together, Louis still didn’t know if Harry was straight. And when it came to boys like Harry Styles, you just didn’t take any chances.

“Nope.” Harry had answered, and Louis felt his skin prickle. So they weren’t—“I have my Niall and that’s enough.”

What?

Louis felt his heart drop to his knees.

The thing was, Louis had been sure that Harry’s eyes brightened a little when he walked the room. He had been sure that Harry laughed just a little harder when he told a joke. He had been sure that the spark that ran though his arms whenever they accidently touched fingers was felt by Harry too. The thing was, he had been  _sure._

Heart heavy and eyes deflated, Louis spoke with a clenched throat. “Oh. How long have you two been together, then?”

What Louis had expected next was heart-felt story about how the two fell in love at first sight. Or how they had been long time childhood friends who eventually realized their eternal love for each other. Or even just how a one-night stand turned into something neither of them had expected.

What he had  _not_ expected was the loud eruption of laughter from both Harry and Niall.

“Dude,” Niall managed to hiccup between laughs. “We’re broders!”

\--

The thing about Niall and Harry is that if you didn’t know them, you would think they hate each other.

They greet each other with insults, laugh at each other’s misfortune, and push each other’s button like no one else. Pissing each other off comes as second nature to them.  

But, in actuality, the pair would do absolutely anything for each other.

In fact, Niall had even told Harry, albeit in a drunken stupor, that he would take a bullet for him. And even though Niall had then proceeded to tell their bartender of the night that he loved him, Harry had believed Niall nonetheless because he would do the exact same for the blonde boy.

They bickered and fought and got in each other’s last  _nerve_ , they really did, but then again so did any other pair of brothers. But brother’s also understood each other. They knew what the other was feeling without even having to ask.

And that’s why, when Niall was recounting the story about his naked encounter with Zayn with while turning deep shade of red, Harry came to realize something.

“You like him,” he tells Niall, arching his eyebrow at the suddenly very wide blue eyes.

“What?” Niall sputters, puffing out his cheeks and looking at Harry with a fake expression of disbelief. Harry could see right through him.

“So, no more running after the straight boy next door with the puppy dog eyes then?” he asks nonchalantly. This was quite the development because Niall has been crushing on Liam ever since the day they moved into the apartment. Of course, Niall had never fully admitted it outright, but when someone talks about someone else’s smile as much as Niall had talked about Liam’s, a person starts to catch on.

In fact, it really was very obvious. Harry knew about it, Louis knew about it, their plumber knew about it. The only oblivious person was the blissfully ignorant Liam Payne.

Niall sighs deeply, pulling him back to reality, “Well, I had to move on at some point, didn’t I?” Harry really should have noticed earlier. Now that he thought about it, the excessive staring the blonde did when Liam was around had halted. Even when Liam had come to borrow some orange juice, all sweaty and glistening from his jog, Niall had handed him the carton without a second look.

“So? What are you going to do now?” Harry asks

“Fuck, I don’t know! It’s pathetic. He’s barely said four words to me!” Niall whines.

Harry can’t help but laugh. Niall sends him an icy glare, but the small smile tell Harry that his friend is much aware of this pathetic situation. “Haz, why do I always end up wanting people who’ll never want me back?” Niall asks, throwing his head back and running a hand through his hair.

“’Cause you’re a fucking idiot.” Harry informs him, snaking a hand around the smaller boy’s shoulder. Niall rests his forehead on Harry’s shoulder, nuzzling Harry’s collarbone.

“Well, at least I have you,” he mumbles into Harry’s shirt. Niall feels Harry rest his cheek on top on his head.

“At lease you have me.”

\--

It was exactly four months and three days since Niall and Harry had moved into the flat next door. Louis had, quite pathetically if he was being honest, kept count.

And it had been exactly four months, three days, and six hours since he had fallen unconditionally in love with Harry Styles.

And that was even more pathetic.

From where Louis was sat, he could see the curly brunette dancing around the kitchen trying to prepare whatever tonight’s dinner was going to be. Music was blaring throughout the flat (some weird hipster band that Harry argued were the “next big thing”), and Louis couldn’t help but wallow in his own pity.

Harry was so perfect that it physically pained Louis to be around him knowing that he couldn’t run his fingers through that tangled mess and knowing he couldn’t kiss those plump, red lips.

As a deep, loud sigh escaped him, Louis felt a shadow fall over him.

“Hey, everything alright?” Niall asked, his blue eyes filled with worry.

Louis shrugged, not wanting to discuss his non-existent love life with the blonde. He was, after all, Harry’s ‘brother’. “Nah, just tired.”

He heard the blonde snort and looked up to find Niall giving a look that screamed ‘bullshit!’

Taken back, he grunted rudely at him. “What?”

“Oh, don’t pout, Louis!” Niall said, waving his hand dismissively. “Why don’t you just pick up your damn balls off the floor and ask him out?”

Louis mouth fell open. “What? Why would I want to ask Harry out?” he defended, folding his arms over his chest.

Niall smirked, a smug look in his eyes. “I never said Harry.”

Louis felt his cheeks grow warm and swatted at Niall’s arms. “Well, who else—”he began to protest, but the look on Niall’s face told him this was a losing battle.

“What the  _fuck_  am I supposed to do, Niall? I don’t even know if he likes me. Hell, I don’t even if the likes boys!” Louis huffed at him. It was a fair point.

“Harry  _very much_  likes boys. Especially boys with defined arses and twinkling blue eyes.” And with a light smack to his bottom, Niall had walked away.

After about one hour, after dinner had been inhaled and beers had been drunk, Niall had given Louis a pointed look and nodded towards Harry.

“Who wants to help me with dishes?” Harry asked, although not expecting anyone to volunteer.

“Louis will. He’s been waiting to get his hands dirty all night!” Niall replied, sending a quick wink in Louis direction. When had the sweet, adorable ball of joy become such a devious manipulator?

 “Sure. I mean, you did all the cooking so it’s only fair.” Louis shrugged, trying to play off his volunteering (or rather his volun _told_ ing) in a rather cool manner.

“Thanks!” Harry said, a bright smile causing the appearance of his offensively cute dimples. Louis’ knees had gone positively weak.

Following Harry to the kitchen, Louis tried to calm himself down. This was really just Harry. Harry, who told terrible puns. Harry, whose stories never really made much sense. Harry, who had now become one of Louis really close friend. And Harry, who Louis loved with every fibre of his being.

_Fuck._

Harry handed him a towel, assigning him the job of drying while he does the washing. “Thanks for helping, Louis. You really didn’t have to.” He said, hands deep in the soapy water that filled in sink.

“Of course, Haz.” Louis replied, trying so  _very_  hard not to think about just how green Harry’s eyes really were.

Obviously, he failed.

“Louis.” Harry suddenly said, and Louis head snapped back into focusing on the words that were coming  _out_  of his mouth rather than just his mouth.

“Harry,” he replied, unsure of what was going on. He saw Harry’s cheek turn slightly pink and his green eyes turned to the floor instead of Louis face. “Harry?” he repeated.

“Never mind,” the younger boy dismissed, shaking his head and returning to the dish washing.

Louis forehead creased in curiosity. “No, Harry, really. What is it?” he insisted. He didn’t like to see Harry so tensed.

“Okay.” Harry sighed. He brought his hands out of the soapy water and made a show of wiping them dry. Louis would be lying if he said he understood what this was about. “Okay, so before I say anything, I need you to understand that you’re one of my closet friends. And no matter what, nothing is going to change that. Okay?”

Louis gulped, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. Niall had told Harry and now Harry was going to trying to break it to him nicely. Harry was going to tell Louis that he didn’t want him, not the way Louis wanted Harry. Louis felt his throat clench and his eyes sting, but put on a face a total indifference.

He was not going to let Harry break it heart, especially since he had never even took it.

“Okay?” Harry repeated, biting his lip. Louis realized that he hadn’t said anything for a while.

“’Course, curly.” He answered, forcing a teasing smirk on his face. The thing was, even if Harry didn’t want to be with Louis, he was still his friend. So, Louis promised himself that nothing was going to change. Harry would always be his friend.

With a curt nod, Harry opened his mouth. “SoIkindareallylikeyou.”

Louis had never hear Harry speak that fast.

“I can’t believe I’m saying his but Harry, could you please slow down?”

The taller boy bit his lips, looking at Louis through his lashes. “So, I kind of really like you.”

And Louis had definitely  _not_  been expecting that.

\--

\--

It’s Friday night and Louis has his perfectly sculpted ass perched up on Harry’s and Niall’s dining table chugging a Guinness.

“Oi, we eat on that!” Niall complains, chucking a dish towel at his head.

Louis simply ducks out of the way, and the dish towels hits the wall with a  _smack,_ leaving a dark stain.

“Harry eats what’s on it,” Louis winks, and Niall visibly shudders. As much as he loves Louis, he really  _hates_  Louis.

“Harry eats what?” Harry calls from inside the kitchen. A few moments later, he appears on the doorway, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile “I eat what?”

Louis smirks impishly and Niall dramatically rolls his eyes and tries his best to get  _that_ picture out of his head.  

“Lou, are you creeping Niall out again with our sex life?” Harry raises his eyebrows at his boyfriend. Louis looks smug, lips mum, refusing to utter a single confession.

“Harry, control your damn boyfriend’s mouth or I’ll do it for you.” Niall threatens, raising his fists at Louis. Harry just smiles fondly at their banter, walking up to take a seat beside Louis.

Absolutely unfazed, Louis shrugs at him and takes another sip of his beer. “So, we hear somebody’s got hots for their roommate.”

Niall feels the tips of his ears burn and he shoots a spiteful look at Harry, “You told him?!”

“Obviously.” Harry shrugs, like exposing Niall’s secret is an everyday thing. Actually, it kind of is an everyday thing. Harry’s like a walking, talking billboard. _Especially_  when it comes to Louis. Niall’s really getting sick of their “share everything and  _absolutely_ everything” policy and he reckons it really can’t be that healthy. Really, he’s just concerned for their relationship. It’s not at all because Niall wishes  _he_  had somebody to share with.

“Aye, don’t worry about it, Niall. I’m sure Mr. Dark and Broody would love to take you on romantic strolls in the park,” Louis taunts. Harry snorts beside him. Niall wants to crawl into his bed and never come out.

“Awh blondie, what are you getting so irked for? Tell him to come to down to Irving with us tonight if you really want get up close and personal with him.” Louis suggest. He drowns the last bit of his Guinness and slams it down on the table.

“For God sakes, Louis, he’s our  _roommate,_ ” Niall tells him. Louis could be downright daft sometimes.

“I’m not telling you to blow him under the damn table! I’m just  _saying_  that at least you can get two words out of him that way. Personally, he kind of seems like a prat. And you don’t seem to be the kind to be into prats, really, with Liam and all, so you know, elimination by default or whatever,” Louis explains, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a yawn.

Niall feels all the colour drain from his face. When Louis catches sight of Niall’s horror-stricken expression, he clamps his hand loudly over his mouth.

“Shit. Shit I—Niall I didn’t mean to,  _fuck_.” Louis stammers, his realization fully apparent on his face.

Niall gulps. He thought Harry had been joking, trying to emphasize the fact that Niall can be blatantly obvious.  But he knew. Louis really  _truly_ knew. And if Louis knew, did that mean…

“Liam, does he know?” Niall manages to grit through his teeth.

“No—I, ugh, he—No, I would never, Niall. He doesn’t know.” Louis says and Niall feels himself relax.

“Okay. Okay.” Niall breathes slowly through his nose. “And now he won’t ever have to know because that’s  _over_. Okay?” He nods pointedly at Louis, who nods back rather frantically.

Then, he grins forcefully as Louis, trying his best to forget that this whole exchange had even happened.  “So, Irvings then?”

\--

It’s 9:00pm and bottles of Guinness litter their living room.

Taking the last gulp from his bottle, Niall inhales sharply.

“Ready?” Harry asks. He’s look at Niall through his lashes, his eyebrows raised high. Niall knows Harry does not think this is a good idea. He’d expressed promptly after Louis had brought it up again. But Niall needs to do this, needs to put an end to this once and for all. And plus, Louis was right. The fact that he’d actually even like Zayn wasn’t---well, whatever.

“Maybe one more beer.” Niall answers, stretching his neck.

“Lou, toss me one more!” Harry yells into the kitchen, and a brown bottle soars through the air and lands in Harry’s lap. He hands it over to Niall.

Twisting of the cap with his hands, Niall hungrily downs the bottle in one chug. Alcohol  _is_  called liquid courage, isn’t it?

“Well?” Harry looks at him expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

Niall’s lip are already numb and he knows his speech has already started to slur.

“Now or never,” is all he says. Then, he gets up and struts over to Zayn’s door purposely.

He turns around and sees that Louis has joined Harry on the couch. They both give him encouraging nods, Louis even offering two thumbs up.

With one last breath, he knocks.

He waits for some rustling behind the door or “just a minute”, but there’s nothing.

He turns around to look at his friends again, and he gets another nod.

So, he knocks again.

Still nothing.

Niall feels an irritation bubbling up inside him. Sure, Zayn didn’t have any obligations towards him, but when someone knocks on your door, you answer. It’s just what you  _do_.

Frustrated, he raps loudly on the door and calls out Zayn’s name. “Zayn!” He keeps knocking hard, his knuckles starting to hurt a little.

Then, all of the sudden, the door opens.

The door opens and Zayn’s standing there in nothing but his Batman boxers, the tattoos on his upper body fully exposed. There is some Arabic writing running along his collarbone and  _fuck_ , Niall has never wanted to lick anything more in his entire life.

“What?” Zayn barks, and Niall manages to tear his eyes away from the black heart just resting above Zayn’s right hip bone.

“Uhm—we, uhm” Niall stammers, trying to remember why exactly he had knocked on Zayn’s door. Zayn gives him an annoyed look, obviously not happy to have been disturbed.

“The lads and I are going to Irvings, and were wondering if you’d like to join?” Louis calls from behind him and  _god_ , Niall could kiss him.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to squeak, scratching his head.

Zayn’s eyes narrow at him, and Niall feels himself blushing. Nevertheless, he manages to give Zayn a (what he hopes looks like is) friendly smile.

Niall watches as Zayn’s purses his lips, contemplating the offer. “Nah.” Zayn shrugs and Niall can feel his heart break into a million pieces.

He feels a familiar bubble of irritation inside him. He’s been nothing but  _nice_  to his new roommate, yet the guy refuses to even interact with him. Niall is  _done_  feeling like he isn’t good enough to hang out with Zayn because frankly, just like Louis had said, Zayn seems to be a complete…

“Prat.” Niall hears himself. A look of confusion passes over Zayn’s face.

“Excuse me?” Zayn sputters.

“That’s right. Prat. You’re a complete  _prat_ ,” he spits. Niall feels his head spinning a bit, and he can’t really think straight. All he knows is that Zayn Malik has been rude to him ever since he stepped foot into this house and Niall just wasn’t  _having it_  anymore.

“Niall, back the fuck off,” Zayn says, glaring at him. If looks were daggers, Niall would be well pierced.

Niall hears a shuffle behind him and he knows Louis and Harry are just waiting for his signal. His head is still spinning and he feels hot all over. But he needs to say this, he needs to get it out.

“Fuck you, Zayn. I’ve tried to be nothing but nice to you ever since you’ve moves it. I tried to invite you to hang out with my friends, left fucking takeout outside your door, cleaned the goddamn bathroom because your arse can’t be fucking  _bothered_ to, and you haven’t uttered a single thanks. Not one. I don’t understand what your fucking problem is, Zayn, but maybe if you left that goddamn room once in a while, you’d understand how the  _fuck_  to interact with actual people!” Niall huffs, panting heavily with this hand rolled into fits. His eyes are dangerously close to flooding over with tears.

Zayn looks at him with wide eyes, face cringing as if it’d been slapped. His eyes are red, scorching with hot anger, and his mouth is hanging open.

“Maybe I don’t want to h-hang out with your pathetic f-friends and I never bloody asked you to bring me t-takeout! I don’t  _need_  you t-to be nice to m-me, I just need you to l-leave me the  _fuck_  al-lone, okay? And by the fucking w-way, I do clean the b-bathroom. Every. F-fucking Wednesday,” he stutters. Zayn is seething with anger, breathing heavy and face hot.

Seeing him like this, Niall actually wants to laugh. He wants to double over and cackle freely because fuck, Zayn isn’t as calm and collected at all. Niall had been intimidated by a guy who fucking stutters, for god sake. He knows that it’s cruel, that degrading someone because they stutter is a dick move, but he honestly does not feel like being nice to Zayn at the moment. Why should he? That’s exactly what he’d  _been_  doing and look where that’s gotten him.

So, he laughs.

It’s forced, it’s quipped, it’s vicious. “You’re pathetic,” he snorts.

And apparently, that does it.

Because with that laugh, all the anger drains from Zayn’s face. For a second he looks absolutely  _shattered_ , face sickly face and eyes pained.  But it’s just a flicker, barely even noticeable if Niall hadn’t been this up close, and then his usual expression of complete indifference settles back on his face.  His eyes are back to their cold, glassy nature and he looks completely emotionless. “Whatever. Goodnight, Niall.” With that, the door slams on his face and Niall finally let’s go of the tears he’d been holding back.

He turns around to find looks of utter shock etched into both Harry’s and Louis’ faces.

“The fuck?” Louis coughs out, and Harry gives him a look of pure bewilderment.

“Don’t wanna talk about it. Can we please go and get absolutely pissed?” Niall sighs. His shoulders sag from defeat. He hasn’t yelled like that in a long,  _long_  time, and he is absolutely knackered from the used up energy.

Niall really _, really_  hates fighting.

\--

There are lips on Niall’s neck, hot breaths sending chills down his spine. He’s glistening with sweat, his hair matted down on his forehead and beads trickling down his temple. He feels someone grab his lips and move them to the rhythm of the music. He feels someone’s hard cock nestled between his cheeks, grinding hard.

How they ended up in the nightclub  _Chillies_  instead of Irving’s, even Niall’s not really sure. He’d told the lads he wanted to get positively  _pissed,_  that he remembers. He also remembers a lot of tequila, an attempt to salvage some kind of dance floor at Irving’s, and then ditching the effort all together and just coming here. Okay, so maybe he does remember.

“What’s your name, cutie?” the stranger behind him whisper-shouts into his ear. It’s supposed to be seductive, Niall thinks, but comes off as just really, very creepy.

He looks up from the stranger’s hands, which have now made it to a dangerous proximity within dick by the way, and searches the packed nightclub for Harry and Louis.

He spots them dancing (the word being used very, very loosely) a few feet away and he throws the little umbrella from his drink at Louis to get their attention. It hits Louis straight on the nose.

“What?!” Louis tries to shout over blaring music, and Niall flits his eyes to the stranger dancing behind him. Louis’ scan him and flashes Niall a quick smile. “ _He’s good_ ”, is what the smile means.

Trying to play this out strategically, or as strategically as his drunk mind can really get, he grabs the stranger’s hands from his waists, turns around quickly, them replaces them on his ass.  The tight squeeze he gets in return, he figures, means that it was in fact a good move.

Bracing himself, he lets his eyes travel up the think neck, graze over the scruff outlining the strong jaw, and then slide over the fa—

The stranger meets Niall’s reaction, eyes wide and face stricken with--well, with realization. The hands groping his ass a few seconds ago go absolutely limp and Niall finds himself bringing up his arms and pushing himself out of the man’s embrace.

Then, he  _runs_  to Harry.

“Harry—Harry we’ve got to go. We’ve got to go  _now_ ,” he shouts and Harry waves his off dismissively, thinking Niall’s just having another hissy fit, turning his attention back to trying to dry humping his boyfriend.

Niall tugs hard at of one Harry’s arms hard, and Harry finally gives him, granted mostly forced, some attention. Niall gestures to the man standing a few feet away from them and Harry’s hips immediately stop moving. He turns towards the exit, walking briskly, trying to put as much distance between himself and the man as possible.

It’s only when he’s outside the club and the cold breeze laps over his skin cooling him down, he finally lets out the breath he’d been holding.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Harry’s takes off his jacket and throws it over Niall’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around Niall tightly. That’s when Niall realizes that he’s crying too.

Harry strokes his hair gently, holding Niall while he sobs vigorously into Harry’s chest. “It’s okay, Niall. It’s okay,” he coos into Niall ear.

When they get home that night, Harry kisses Louis goodbye for the night for the first time in months. Then, he follows Niall into his bedroom, slips into his bed, and fits Niall in the crook between his arms and his shoulders.  

When Niall spends the rest of the night crying, he doesn’t push him off or tell him to shut up or to go bed. Instead, he strokes Niall’s hair, rubs circles into his back, and softly kisses the top of Niall’s head.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Harry keeps saying, and Niall is so glad that he is. Because that’s the only place Niall’s ever really felt okay. Ever really felt safe.

“Don’t leave, okay?” Niall sniffles, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “Just don’t leave.”

“I would never,” he promises.

And Niall knows he wouldn’t. Harry is the one person that wouldn’t.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about damn time ;)
> 
> \-- B <3

\--

When Niall wakes up the next morning, his throat is scratchy and his head feels morbidly heavy. Harry’s arms are slung over his chest and he’s snoring very loudly.

“Harry,” Niall whispers, reaching his hand to plug up Harry’s nose. The snoring immediately dies away. It’s a little trick he’d learned since he’d had to share a bed with Harry quite often in the past.

“Aspirin,” he tells himself as he lifts himself out of bed. This turns out to be quite the process because Harry’s long limbs are entangled with his and the constant wave of nausea that keeps hitting Niall doesn’t help much either.

After some absolutely agonizing minutes, he finally detangles himself from Harry, only wake Harry to wake up anyway when his damn bedsprings creak.

“Where ya going?” Harry drawls, his speech even slower if that’s possible. His voice is scratchy and raw.

“Water. Aspirin,” he quickly tells Harry, trying his best not the throw up all over his bed. “Nausea.”

“Mhmm. Can you bring me some water?” Harry asks, squinting his eyes at the morning light.

“Sure.”

 A few minutes later, when he returns with two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin, Harry’s sitting up on the bed, looking at him with eyes full of worry.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Niall complains, cracking open the aspirin container. He shakes out two, puts them in his mouth and swallows them, chasing it with water.

“Like what?” Harry asks, reaching his hand out as Niall hands him his glass of water and the aspirin bottle.

“Like I’m about to fall apart any second. Like I’m a goddamn porcelain doll you have to hold too fucking carefully to avoid breaking it.”

“But, will you? Break?” Harry’s green eyes pierce into his, searching for some answers within the depths of Niall’s eyes.

“No. I’m fine,” he says strictly.

Harry raises his eyebrows at him, concern etched into every feature of this face. “Niall,” he simply says. It’s the look. It’s the damn look that Niall just _hates_.

 

“I was just in shock yesterday, okay? I-I didn’t know he was even back in town. I just—I wasn’t expecting it, is all. I was just surprised,” he desperately explains. Anything to get that goddamn look off of Harry’s face. Niall can handle himself. He doesn’t need anyone to look at him with that kind of worry.

“Niall, he—” Harry starts to say, but Niall can’t bear to hear it. He’s finally gotten away from it, locked it away in a box. He doesn’t want to deal with it, it’s too exhausting.

“It was a long time ago, Harry. I just—I don’t want it to be a part of my life anymore. I just want to forget, okay? I _had_ forgotten it too, until last night. I’ve been doing fine, you know I have!” Niall insists. He wishes he’d never gone to that fucking club in the first place.

“You have to deal with it at some point, babe. Locking it away isn’t going to do anything. It won’t help.”

The thing was, Harry was a therapist. A therapist for children, nonetheless. So he’s always trying to get Niall to talk. “Communication is health,” he always says. He’s damn good at it too, which is the most annoying part. Niall sometimes the reason Harry became a therapist at all was because he’d gotten so good at it, having to support Niall through his _issues._ But Niall wasn’t having it today, he was not going to be shrinked.

“Harry, I’m not one of your kids. I can handle it. I _have_ been handling it,” Niall argues. His head still hurts and he can feel his throat tighten again. But he’s not going to cry. He’s wasted enough of his tears already. “See, I’m the same carefree Niall as I was before. Happy-go-lucky. Totally fine,” he says, waving his hands around and a forcing a smile.

Harry’s eyes lift to Niall’s face and his eyes look just look sad now. Defeated. “You haven’t been the carefree for a long time now, Niall. I know you want to believe you are past this. You’re trying to convince yourself, and you’ve fooled pretty much everyone, including yourself. But, fuck, I know you too well. You’re my goddamn brother, I know you.”

Harry does. He knows Niall. Sometimes better than Niall knows himself. But right now, all Niall fucking knows is that he’s done. He’s done with this now, he doesn’t want it to take up any more time in his life. He’d wasted two years of his life crying about it, thinking about it. Not anymore. No more.

“Harry, I know that you understand me better than anyone else. But this time, you’re wrong. Look, at me. I’m fine. It’s fine. Let’s just drop it, okay?” Niall’s tone is quipped. He just really doesn’t want to think about this anymore.

He was done with it. He’d gotten away. He’d been fine for a while. Why can’t Harry just accept it? Yeah, sometimes he still wakes up screaming. Sometimes, he can’t sleep for days. Sometimes, when an old memory suddenly passes through his brain, his insides freeze and hands start shaking. But it’s only sometimes.

His razors have been put away for a long time now, and he’s stopped the excessive eating.

He’s been okay.

Niall’s tone shuts Harry up. Harry knows when to stop pushing. Fucking therapist. So he just shrugs, although the worry’s still not completely drained from his face. But he drops the subject, nonetheless.

Niall breathes a quick sigh of relief, wiping his sweaty palms on his sweats.

“So what was up with that blow-out yesterday? With you and Zayn?” Harry suddenly asks.

“What blow—”

_Fuck._

He remembers _why_ it was he’d wanted so wasted yesterday. He’d totally forgotten about the things he’s said to Zayn. He’d been so fucking _horrible_. “Harry, fuck, I fucked up,” Niall says.  

“What?”

“I—fuck Harry I was such a dick. I don’t know, I guess I was just pissed that he was always _avoiding_ me, you know? And then when he said he didn’t want to come yesterday, I don’t know, I just kind of blew up. I said some really nasty things.” Niall confesses, putting his head between his hands. He really does not need a roommate he doesn’t get along with, not now.

“You’re Niall. You _can’t_ be nasty. There isn’t a nasty bone in your body. I’m sure everything’s fine,” Harry consoles him, trying to dismiss his worry.

“No, Harry, you don’t understand. When I drink, I don’t think straight…remember Carl?” Niall alludes to a drunken experience he’d had with this man in a bar. The man had really just wanted to talk to him, but he was kind of a loser and Niall had completely humiliated him.

“Fuck, man, what did you _say_ to Zayn?” Harry’s eyes are scrunched together now, finally paying attention to why Niall was so worried.

“Well, so he kind of stutters when he’s mad, right?” Niall tells him, and Harry nods slowly. “I kind of laughed at him for it. And then called him pathetic,” he bites his lip, absolutely aware of how much affect that word has. That’s the exact reason he’d used it.

Harry eyes widen, “Niall! Oh my god, he’d probably had a speech impediment when he was little! Fuck, man, you know how insecure people are about that? I have to deal with kids everyday who avoid talking at all because they’re scared they’re going to made fun of. Or worse. It’s scarring Niall. That’s _not_ something you point out,” he exclaims, motioning widely with his hands.

Niall’s heard it before, when Harry talks about his kids. He _knows_ he shouldn’t have. It’s just when he drinks sometimes…but that can’t be an excuse. He’s going to have to own up to it.

“I know. I—fuck, I need to go talk to him don’t I?” Niall asks reluctantly and Harry gives him a look that shouts ‘DUH.’

\--

Niall is standing in front of Zayn’s door, a millions thoughts rushing through his head. The most prominent one being, “What the fuck do I even say?”

He tries to remember his and Harry’s conversation back in his room.

“But what the fuck do I even say, Harry?” Niall had whined, absolutely regretting his drunken actions. “I’m sorry I laughed at something that you’ve probably had to deal with for your entire life and is probably something you’re really insecure about? I’m sorry that I sometimes turn into a little shit when I’m drinking? I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you clean the bathroom on Wednesdays?”

Harry had snorted, obviously enjoying Niall’s misfortune. The thing is, Niall rarely fucks up with people. He’s a people person, everyone likes him. He’s loud, loving, and he loves to laugh. So people generally like him. So, when he fucks up with people, him trying to make amends is a real sight for sore eyes. And Harry positively has sore eyes.

“Maybe just try, ‘Sorry for being a dick’? Then _if_ Zayn doesn’t slam the door in your face, which I’m betting ten bucks with Louis that he will by the way, then explain a little more. ” Harry had suggested while tipping back on Niall’s desk chair.

Niall had let out a deep sigh, to which Harry had responded, “You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

The most annoying part of the whole thing was, was that Harry was right.

“Sorry for being a dick,” Niall mutters. Yeah, he can remember that. He repeats it just a couple more times for good measure.

Then, taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. A few moments pass by and there is no response.

 _Fuck, it’s just like yesterday_.

“Zayn!” Niall shouts before realizing that that probably wasn’t a very good idea. Zayn’s definitely not going to open the door now.

Smacking himself on the forehead for his stupidity, his sags his shoulders and starts to make his way back into his bedroom. But then, just as he’s turning around, he hears shuffling behind the door. Then a click.

“Come in,” Zayn’s voices tells him from behind the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he twists it just a little bit. It’s unlocked.

Bracing himself, he twists the door handle all the way and pushes the door open. He’ll finally get to see Zayn in his natural habitat, his room.

The first thing Niall notices when he enters Zayn’s room is the smell. It’s musky and strong, smelling exactly like weed.

Then, he notices Zayn by the windows, one of them open, a joint snugly fitted between his long fingers. He holds it expertly, the spiff hanging off his fingers in almost a poetic way.

The scene is so beautiful. The windows pouring white light into the room, Zayn sitting by them, his silhouette outline by the glow, a gentle wind billowing the curtains and ruffling his hair slightly. Niall, for the second time, wants to take out his phone and snap a quick picture.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Zayn clears his throat. “Did you need something?”

It’s only then that Niall remembers why he’s actually here. And what he’d actually said to this beautiful creature last night. And fuck, he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“I—I, uhm, wanted to apologize about last night,” he stammers and Zayn quirks an eyebrow. He brings the joint to his lip and takes a long drag, inhaling, then breathing a white cloud of smoke out the window.

“Okay,” he shrugs. But his face is still emotionless and Niall can’t take it,

“No. No, I really mean it, Zayn. I was a fucking dick and way out of line. I just—It’s the beer I guess. But I can’t blame the beer, I shouldn’t. I was a dick and I need to own up to that. You really are not obligated to hang out with us, at all. I just, I just wanted to get to know you better, is all. I’m sorry, genuinely, very sorry,” he finishes, all in one breath. He feels his chest get considerably lighter.

He carefully lifts his eyes to gauge Zayn’s reaction. Zayn’s looking at him with curious eyes, the corners of his lips slightly skewed up. Niall shifts under his gaze, very much aware that’s he’s just in sweat pants and a tank top.

Finally, Zayn speaks, “Man, you gotta lighten up. Want a few tokes?” he lifts up his hand and gestures to the joint between his fingers.

That was certainly not the response he’d been expecting.

Harry had lost his ten bucks.

Niall contemplates Zayn’s offer. He’d only really smoked weed a total of one time in his life. He’d coughed up a lung, really, and never tried it again after that.

But here was Zayn, beautiful Zayn sitting in front of him with wind blowing in his hair, light illuminating his tan skin, and really, how could Niall say no?

So, he walks over, plops down beside Zayn and sticks out his hand. Zayn watches him again for a few moments, the upturned lips sliding into a real smirk now. Niall waits patiently.

Then, Zayn hands the joint over.

Niall brings the joint to his lips and takes in a drag.

“Breathe it all the way in,” Zayn advises, his eyes unmoving from Niall’s face. So, he does exactly that.

It burns a little.

“Let it go now.” And Niall does, exhaling a white cloud of smoke in front of his face. His throat feels a little itchy, but he doesn’t cough.

“Go again,” Zayn encourages, and his smirk has now transformed to a genuine smile. Niall does, then take another two hits after that, then finally hands it back to Zayn.

As Zayn smokes, Niall watches as his lips expertly wrap around the little blunt and suck. This sends a lot of thoughts to Niall’s mind that he really should not be having, especially around influencing substances.

Zayn passes the blunt back to Niall and Niall takes yet another hit.

They pass back and forth for a while, neither of them saying anything, yet neither of them looking away from the other.

They can hear London happening outside. Car’s screech, children play, parents shout. But nothing touches them. They don’t pay attention to anything another than each other. It’s like they’re in their own bubble right now, a bubble of just Zayn and Niall. Niall feels his heart flutter at this thought.

\--

The problem with people, no matter how great they are, is that they make quick judgements. They make judgements and assumptions without really understanding the person, without knowing their story.

When Niall had first met Harry, he’d been quick to judge. Long hair, ripped jeans, black eyeliner, he looked like bad news.

“He really likes black eyeliner, thinks it makes him look cool,” Gemma had scoffed when she’s caught Niall staring. Smacking her gum with a hand on her hip, she’d looked like she was posing flirty for a photo shoot. She had long blonde reaching down her back, and with light pink steaks running through a few strands, Niall thought Gemma was the coolest person he’d ever met. “Really, he just looks like a twat, don’t cha think?”

He’d just shrugged. He hadn’t felt like talking much back in those days. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry till his eyes hurt.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?” Gemma had asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He’d shrugged again and Gemma had laughed, her face splitting into a huge grin. “You’re a cutie! Come, I’ll show you to your room. Reckon you’ll quite like it. It’s blue and the windows are huge, although that’s a pain in the arse in the morning…” and she’d rambled on like this, Niall trudging behind her, his suitcase bouncing along the sidewalk.

“Tada!” Gemma had exclaimed once they’d got to the room. “You like?” she’d asked waggling her eyes.

Niall had nodded his head, giving her a small smile. It really was nice. Exactly like she’d said, with blue walls and large windows. She’d bent down and pinched his cheeks.

“You’ll like it here. Although, you’ll have to share the room with Harry,” she’d grunted as she pulled Niall’s suitcase into the living room. “What do you have in here, rocks?”

But Niall had stopped listening entirely after ‘sharing a room with Harry’. “H-Harry?” he’d stammered, his blue eyes wide.

Gemma had took one look at his face and burst into laughter. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

An hour or so after Gemma had left, Harry had strolled into the room. Niall was unpacking, hanging all his clothes up, expecting Harry to either shove up or ignore him all together. That’s how all the boys in foster homes acted. They were angry at the world, looking to everyone as a foe. But Niall had understood. He’d been pretty angry too. But, he had been more frightened then angry really. He hadn’t wanted any trouble. And past experiences had taught him the best way to stay out of trouble was to shut up and mind his own business.

But the curly haired boy had different ideas. In fact, he had plopped himself right down on Niall’s bed.

“Hiya. I’m Harry,” he’d said, sticking out his hand with a large grin. His eyeliner was smudged around his eyes, and there were streaks of it along his cheek. Niall had wanted to laugh because he looked like a little kid who’d gotten into his mom’s makeup kit and gone crazy (that was exactly what had happened, he had later found out).

“I’m Niall,” he’d answered softly, taking Harry’s hand.

“Ou, an Irishman. Sexy,” he’d winked and fallen back on Niall’s pillow. Niall felt his cheeks heat up.

As Niall had continued to unpack, Harry had chatted away, telling Niall about himself. The funny adventures of him and his friends, his mean teaches at school. He’d sometimes stop to ask Niall about his life, and Niall would answer him quietly.

“So, you digging the eyeliner look?” Harry had asked suddenly.

And without thinking Niall had answered, “You look like a twat.”

Eyes wide and face red after realizing his mistake, he’d stammered out an apology. But Harry had simply waved it off.

“Eh, I like honesty. I’m just experimenting, really. Pisses Gemma off, so that’s a bonus,” he’d admitted, a cheeky grin across his face. Niall had laughed at this, laughed like he hadn’t in a long time.

And when Gemma had knocked on their door to call them for dinner, Niall was already showing Harry his football trophies. Harry had listened to Niall ramble on about Mullingar, never interrupting him once. Really, he was the kindest person Niall had met in a while.

That night, lying in bed, Niall had decided to never make quick judgements about anyone else ever again.

\--

“So, is this what you do in here all day?” Niall asks after the joint is put out. His throat feels raw from the smoke.

Zayn shrugs, his eyes blood-shot and half lidded. “Helps me relax, ya know?”

Niall nods his head, his chest feeling light and his mind feeling amazingly empty. His entire body buzzed.

“I don’t know anything about you, Zayn,” he finds himself saying before he can stop himself. His thoughts are foggy, the connection between his mouth and his brain slow. Zayn just glares at him and Niall braces himself for the usual cold remarks.

“I’m from Bradford,” Zayn finally says and Niall cocks his head, surprised at the genuine response.

“Oh? How is it?” Niall asks, not wanting to stop this conversation. This is the longest they’ve ever talked back and forth.

 “Shitty. I didn’t live in the greatest area, I guess,” he says, licking his lips. “God, I’m starving.”

Now that Zayn’s mentioned it, Niall notices just how hungry he is, “Wanna make some food?”

“Nah. Let’s order Chinese,” Zayn drawls, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

Niall marvels at that brilliant idea, “Hmm, Chinese.”

They end up ordering way too much, laughing as they try to finish everything.

“I’m so full, but I’m still starving,” Niall laughs, helping himself to more Kung Pao Chicken.

Zayn snickers, his nose scrunching. “Mate, I know. Do you think that Chinese people order fish and chips when they’re high?”

Niall finds himself laughing more at this thought. “Why? Fish and chips isn’t high food.”

Zayn doubles up from laughing, his eyes watering at the corners, “High food. Imagine an entire isle at the grocers labelled _High Food_.”

It’s not even funny, not really. But they both crack up.

And that’s how Niall spend his entire day, laughing at absolutely nothing. But laughing at absolutely nothing with Zayn.  

\--

“What the fuck happened do you yesterday, mate? You disappeared into Zayn’s room and never came out,” Harry asks, his gangly legs atop their coffee table.

Niall shrugs. He doesn’t want Harry to know. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want to share it. It was like he lived in an entirely different world yesterday, Zayn’s world, and he doesn’t want to let anyone in. Not yet. “We were just talking?”

“Zayn? Talking? You sure he wasn’t, like, threatening you?” Harry teases.

“Shut up, Harry. He’s a really good guy okay?” Niall defends, crossing his arms over his shoulders. Harry didn’t know anything about Zayn.

“Oh? Well, what did you talk about, then? I wanna get some insight into Mr. Dark and Mysterious,” Harry says, licking his lips at Niall. He turns to face Niall on the sofa, his eyebrows raises expectantly.

“I don’t know. Stuff. What’s with the interrogation, anyway? We weren’t planning world domination,” Niall says, irritated. But he wasn’t irritated at Harry, not really. He was more irritated at the fact that he couldn’t remember what they talked about. He couldn’t remember a single thing expect Zayn telling him he was from Bradford. They’d spent the entire day together, how had they talked about nothing?

“With all the time he spends in there, wouldn’t put it past him. Just promise me one thing, if you are planning world domination, include me, okay?” he winks at Niall, throwing his head back and laughing. Niall can’t help but cackle along.

It reminds him of yesterday a little. There was a lot of laughing. A lot. But the laughter felt magical, surreal. This, with him and Harry, it’s all too familiar.

Suddenly, a door clicks behind them. They both turn their heads and spot Zayn lingering in his doorway, looking at them.

“Hey,” Zayn says, nodding his head to acknowledge them. Niall and Harry are both too dumbstruck to speak.

“Whacha guys upto?” Zayn speaks up again. He’s just standing there chewing on his bottom lip and shuffling his feet. He looks nervous.

“We’re about to watch a movie,” Niall coughs, suddenly remembering how to talk. He can feel Harry breathing slowly beside him.

“Oh,” is the reply he gets. Zayn stuffs his hands in his pockets and his head drops as he looks to his feet. Niall feels a sharp pain in his rib cage as Harry elbows him.

“What?” Niall hisses, glaring at Harry. He nods to where Zayn is standing, then towards the television.

_Oh._

“Did you want to join us?” Niall asks, biting the inner side of his cheek.

Zayn looks up, a wide smile across his face, “Sure!” Niall feels his stomach flutter aggressively, threatening to climb out of his throat. He looks over to Harry who looks just as surprised by Zayn’s sudden change of heart.  

He briefly wonders if it was yesterday that brought along this sudden change. But he pushes that thought down, abandoning it in the back corner of his mind. Zayn’s finally interacting with the outside world and Niall doesn’t want to do anything that’s going to scare him back into his hole.

“I’ll grab the popcorn!” Harry jumps up beside him, his enthusiasm a little too exaggerated. He runs into the kitchen, leaving Niall to face Zayn all alone.

_Fucking prick._

“So, what do you want to watch?” Niall asks tentatively. The situation is like a land mine. He has to take his steps carefully because one wrong move everything could explode.

“Uhm, doesn’t matter,” Zayn says shrugging. He’s biting on the sleeve of his jumper now and Niall wonders if he’s always been this shy.

“Please don’t say that in front of Harry. He’ll make us watch a documentary about the American Healthcare system if you tell him that,” Niall tells Zayn. Zayn chuckles softly, his nose scrunching up again.

_Goddamn, that is fucking adorable._

“You’re lying. There are _not_ movies about the American Healthcare System!” Zayn accuses. He’s slowly starting to saunter forward. Whatever Niall is doing seems to be right.

“I _swear_. It’s called ‘Sicko’!” Niall says making a face and this face Zayn snort. “So, please, do tell!”

“Uhm, okay. I guess I like Superheroes. I know it’s dorky but whatever,” Zayn says, back to chewing on his sleeve. His eyes are wide, as if their looking to the blonde boy for approval. He looks like a reindeer in headlights and Niall can feel his heart swell up.

How did the Zayn go from the cool, indifferent Vouge model to the wide-eyed, shy creature standing in front of him?

“Dorky my ass. I have the entire Batman saga on DVD,” Niall admits, and his response immediately brightens up Zayn’s face.

“Can we watch _Batman Begins_? I haven’t seen it in so long!” Zayn asks. His voice carries excitement and Niall is yet again left wondering about who Zayn really is.

“Sure,” Niall nods. “Sit down!” He pats to the seat beside him, signalling to Zayn that he can sit there.

But Zayn plops down on the floor instead, “If you don’t mind…I like the floor better.”

Niall heads spins. He really, _really_ wants to know Zayn’s story.

\--

It’s 10:00pm and Harry’s phone keeps going off, breaking Niall’s attention. They are well into _The Dark Knight_ now and Zayn’s back pressed up tightly against Niall knees.

“Harry!” Niall hisses and Harry scrambles to pick up phone.

“Sorry!” he whispers, walking over to the kitchen to avoid interrupting the movie. But it’s not the movie that’s holding Niall’s attention, not really. In fact, he’d stopped paying to what’s playing on the screen the first five minutes into _Batman Begins._ Because it was then he realized that watching Zayn watch the movie was much more interesting than watching the movie itself.  

The thing is, the thing that makes Niall want to jump up onto tabletops and sing about is, that Zayn copies the expressions of the characters.

Like, when Bruce Wayne winks at someone, Zayn winks at the TV. When Alfred nods his head, Zayn nods his head. When the joker smiles menacingly, Zayn has the exact look on his face.

It makes Niall want to laugh, but it makes him want to run over and smother Zayn with kisses at the same it. It’s too _adorable_ and Zayn is _not_ supposed to be adorable.

 So, that was why he’d been watching Zayn for the past two and a half hours. Some may call it creepy, Niall prefers romantic.

He goes back to intently staring at Zayn who is entirely oblivious.

But they are yet again interrupted by Harry, who has now turned all the lights on in the apartment, breaking Zayn’s attention too.

“Harry, what the fuck, man?” Niall shouts, whacking a pillow at his head.

“Sorry! Sorry, I totally forgot I told Louis I’d pick him up from work. I have to go,” he rushes, grabbing his coats off the rack and his keys off the table. “Fuck, he’s going to _kill_ me.”

“He’ll have to race me to it,” Niall mumbles, and he hears Zayn snort under him.

After Harry leaves, Niall gets up to turn the light off again.

“Uhm, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore,” Zayn announces, smiling mischievously at Niall.

“Okay…” Niall responds, unsure of Zayn’s motives.

“Want to smoke again?” he bites his lips, his eyes lighting up. Niall’s heart starts to race a little faster. Zayn raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” Niall replies. His cheeks hurt from the wide smile spread across his face.

\--

Good things come to those who wait. Niall remembers his dad telling him that as a young child. Niall had wanted something, maybe a toy, maybe candy, that he doesn’t remember. But he does remember his dad sitting him down on the couch, holding Niall’s tiny hand in his, looking into his eyes and telling him that. It’s one of the few things Niall does remember about his dad.

So, every day for the next three weeks, he tells himself that. He repeats it in his head over and over again.

He also disappears into Zayn room every night for the next three weeks.

Every night, at 10:00pm, Zayn unlocks his door for Niall and Niall slips in. It’s secretive, they’re very sly about it, even though no one else lives in the flat but them.

He walk in, plops himself next to the window beside Zayn, and they share a joint.

Niall forgets everything then. As soon as smoke hits his throat, as soon as Zayn’s voices hits his ears, everything else goes away.

It’s just him, Zayn, and the white puffs of smoke flowing out of their mouths.

They talk, they talk a lot.

Sometimes Niall talks and Zayn listens. Sometimes Zayn talks and Niall listens. And they laugh. They laugh and laugh and laugh.

Zayn tells him about his child hood, about all his family friends and the pranks they use to pull together. Niall tells Zayn about Harry and Gemma and Anne. He tells him about his classes at the university and outright absurd things Louis says.

When he slips out of Zayn’s room around 2am and melts into his bed, he dozes of dreaming about hazel eyes and toothy smiles, and with a yearning heart, tells himself he can wait.

He’ll wait.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things actually happen...enjoy! 
> 
> \-- B <3

Why is it that usually the most important things, the things that have you biting your nails and pulling out your hair, the ones that have you up and tossing at godforsaken hours of the night, the one’s that invade the majority of your thoughts, they happen with the least amount of dynamic? That moment, the one that you've been waiting for, the one that you've been craving, comes about without so much as a simple warning.

Niall blames the movies. It's really them that have you believing that moments like these come bearing the responsibility of their own background scores.  
  
So, when it happens, when it finally happens, you really can't blame Niall for tossing out his entire collection of romantic comedies after, can you?

It’s 9:58 and Niall is spraying his favourite Giorgio Armani cologne under his arm pits. He does it every night. It calms him down before he ventures into Zayn’s room for the night. The familiar smell slows down his beating heart and helps cover up the nervous sweats he’d become so accustomed to ever since Zayn had moved in. It’s not fair, Niall reckons. Even after three weeks of these late-night rendezvous, Niall was just as nervous.

After a quick pit sniff, he slips out of his room and walks over to Zayn’s. He knocks, even though he knows it’s open.

“Come in!” Zayn shouts from the depths of his room, as he does every night. Niall saunters in, finds Zayn on the floor beside the window holding a joint, and plops down next to him, as he does every night.

“Hi!” Niall says as he settles on the floorboards.

“Hey,” Zayn greets back with a lazy smile. “You smell so good.”

Niall nearly has a heart attack. He blushes so furiously that he’s pretty sure his cheeks are on fire. Because Niall smelt like this every single night for the last three week and never had Zayn ever complimented him on it.

“Thanks,” he coughs out finally. Unsure of what else to really say to that, he reaches for the joint. But when Zayn realizes what he’s doing, he pulls his hand back.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, confused at Zayn’s reaction.

Zayn narrows his eyes. “I kind of want to try something,” he says, smiling with his lips caught between his teeth.

“Uhm, okay. What?” Niall asks. His brain is working overtime to string together thoughts because Zayn and his lip biting is sending all of Niall’s blood to his dick.

“Have you ever heard of shot gunning?” Zayn asks with a lift of his perfectly arched (but not waxed, he swears) eye brows.

Niall thinks for a second. “Isn’t that when you get to ride in front passenger seat of the car?”

Zayn smiles, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Nope.”

“Ugh, then no I haven’t, I guess” Niall admits. His eyes flicker to the spliff loosely held in Zayn’s long fingers. He craves for that similar burn in his throat, for that feeling of weightlessness. “Can I have a hit, please? It’s been a long day.”

“Okay. But don’t inhale it, okay? Take the smoke into your mouth but don’t inhale it.”

Niall raises his eyebrows at Zayn. He isn’t really sure where this is going but nods nonetheless.

Zayn hands the joint over and Niall suck on the tip of the joint, the other end of it burning a bright red. He holds the smoke in his mouth. Zayn’s watching him with a small smile, the amusement flickering on.

Then, Zayn is leaning forward, moving closer and closer to Niall’s face. “Close your eyes. When I say so, open your mouth and blow,” Zayn instructs. Niall nods and shuts his eyes.

“Okay. Count to three, then open your mouth and blow,” Niall hears Zayn say. He nods to let Zayn know he understand.

1

He feels Zayn’s hand on his shoulder. His palms start to sweat.

2

He feels Zayn’s hot breath on his lips.

3

He’s supposed to open his mouth now. He slowly parts his lips, eyes still squeezed shut. And that’s when he feels it. Zayn’s lips touching his.

He remembers that he’s supposed to blow and he does. Zayn sucks the smoke from his mouth, inhaling. Niall doesn’t dare open his eyes because he’s afraid that it’s a dream. Zayn Malik’s lips are on his and he really really does not want to be dreaming.

He feels Zayn pulls away after a few seconds. His heart sinks a little. He was hoping it would never end.

“You can open your eyes now,” Zayn tells him. Niall lifts his lids slowly to find Zayn staring back at him no longer smiling, but gaze so intense that it sends shivers down Niall’s spine.

“What was that?” Niall whispers softly, still reeling from that experience. Finally, Zayn smiles.

“That, mate, was shot gunning,” he replies.

“Oh.”

“You, uhm, wanna try it with me?” Zayn asks, scratching his head. Niall’s heart lifts again. He nods.

“Okay. I’ll blow it into your mouth. All you have to do is inhale, okay?” Niall nods again.

Zayn takes a hit and leans closer to Niall. Niall knows what to expect now, so he opens his mouth, ready to inhale. As the does, the familiar burn he’d been longing for fills up his throat and he closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling.

“You like that?” Zayn asks as he pulls away.

“S’cool,” Niall shrugs. The truth is, Niall absolutely loved it. Getting to be that close the Zayn sent goose bumps along every surface of his body.

Zayn takes a couple more normal hits, then passes the joint to Niall. They do a few more rounds of shot gunning, Niall eager and willing every time. The joint burns away slowly, turning into the smoke that blows out of their mouths.

The whole thing is very artistic, Niall decides. It’s what poems are written about, what songs based on. 

He also decides that Zayn Malik is a work of art. He’s the kind of person poems are written about, who songs based on.

He also decides that he’s totally and completely fucked.

It’s more of a silent night. They don’t talk much, but rather listen. They listen to the light patter of the rain drops hitting roofs, the screeching of tires on pavements, the quiet noise of the city outside the window.

Niall doesn’t mind this. As he looks over London, he imagines floating over top of it. The sights he’d see, the whispered conversations he’d hear. He loves the city because so many people live here, all with such different lives. That’s the reason he’d moved to London in the first place. Just as he’s imagining himself floating over Big Ben, Zayn breaks his illusion.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Zayn asks. The joint long gone, his bony fingers are now playing with a pencil. 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it? The city?” Niall replies, hazily. His eyes feel heavy.

Zayn nods, “Yeah”

“Why’d you move here, Zayn?” he asks. He had been wondering about that for a while.

Zayn purses his lips. “Dunno. Needed to get out of Bradford, I guess. I felt trapped.”

Niall lets out a laugh at this. “Trapped? You stay cooped up in your room all day long anyway!”

Zayn looks taken aback by this sudden exclamation and Niall bites his tongue. But Zayn shrugs soon after, the expression sliding off his face as quickly as it had come on.

“I guess it scares me a little. I don’t know anyone here.”

“You know me,” Niall offers.

A small smile plays on Zayn’s lips. “That’s true. I do know you. And I didn’t even have to leave my room.”

They both laugh at that. Niall thinks that maybe that’s his favourite thing about Zayn. He’s very easy-going. He doesn’t hold grudges, unlike Harry, isn’t dramatic, unlike Louis, and is very easy to understand, unlike Liam. He’s does what he says, says what he does. He doesn’t pretend for anyone or anything. He’s simple and Niall realizes that he very much likes simple.

“Show me your tattoos?” Niall asks hopefully. He knows all the little pictures and words littered across Zayn’s body mean a lot to him, Zayn told him so. 

Zayn scoots closer to him. “Which one?” he asks and Niall’s eyes light up.

He lifts his hand and runs his fingers over Zayn’s shirt, along his collarbone. It’s in Arabic, the tattoo on his collarbone. Niall had always been curious about it.

Zayn’s face is looming above Niall’s and Niall catches the subtle flicks of gold in Zayn’s eyes.

“It says ‘be true to who you are’,” he tells Niall. He is looking down at Niall, his expression soft.

And then it happens.

Niall sees it coming, but when Zayn’s lips gently press against his, he’s still taken by surprise. As Zayn’s lips start sliding against his, he realizes what’s happening and responds, pushing back lightly. Zayn’s lips taste like weed and spearmint, the combination Niall soon decides is his favourite.

There are no fireworks, no euphoric music, and certainly no clapping as Niall’s favourite romantic comedies had him believing would come about. But Niall’s insides ignite nonetheless, burning even the tips of his toes.

They melt together, Zayn’s hand holding the back of Niall’s neck, Niall’s fingers clinging on to Zayn’s shirt. It’s soft, its sweet, and very much to Niall’s disliking, it’s short.

Zayn pulls back first, releasing his hold on Niall’s neck. Niall frees Zayn’s shirt from his fingers.

Zayn smiles at him, eyes crinkling with fondness. Niall smiles back, at a loss of words for the second time that Niall.

His heart is beating furiously against his chest, his thoughts completely blurred together.

He had finally kissed Zayn Malik.

“How did that paper go? The one on Chopin?” Zayn asks Niall, nonchalantly. So they weren’t going to talk about it then. It made sense. Zayn didn’t like to make a big deal out of anything, and hadn’t Niall just decided a few moments ago that that was what he liked about Zayn so much? So he goes along with it.

“Still haven’t gotten the results. But I think it went fine because Chopin I actually like,” Niall responds. And the night goes on just like that.  

There are no big proclamations of love, no desperate love making. They laugh like usual, talk like usual, but the kiss is never brought up. 

And as Niall slips into bed that night, he reckons the kiss would have gone completely forgotten about too if it wasn’t for the taste of weed mixed his spearmint still lingering in his mouth.

Good things come to those who wait, his father had said. Niall had waited, and he was sure this is the good thing he was rewarded by.

That night, lying in bed with mouth tasting of weed and spearmint, he was sure.

\--

Niall doesn’t quite know why he doesn’t tell Harry about the kiss. Maybe it’s because he is selfish, wanting to keep such a beautiful moment to himself. Maybe it’s because he is scared, scared of what Harry will say. And maybe it’s because he’s not 100% sure it even happened, seeing as though the next couple nights he snuck into Zayn’s room, it hadn’t been mentioned once.

And because he hadn’t told Harry, he’s surprised when one day out of the blue, Harry asks him about his late night escapades.

“So, you still going to see Zayn in his room?” Harry asks as he’s cutting up celery for a vegetable casserole. Niall hates vegetable casserole but Harry insists on making it because ‘you can’t live off of fried chicken forever, Niall.’ Niall reckons he can, but arguing with Harry is quite pointless and extremely exhausting. He’s a psychiatrist after all. His love for fried chicken somehow ends up being a way to ‘fill a hole in his life that’s never satisfied’.

“God, you make me sound like a prostitute,” Niall whines, rolling his eyes. He knows this conversation is heading to a place he really does not want to go right now.

“Firstly, nothing wrong with being a prostitute. And secondly, stop trying to avoid the question, Niall,” Harry says, not missing a beat chopping his vegetables.

Niall sighs dramatically, “Yes.”

“And how are you feeling about that?” Harry asks. Niall rolls his eyes. That is Harry’s all-time favourite question.

“Fantastic. We smoke up, get higher than the clouds, it makes me feel fucking fantastic,” Niall tells him.

Harry pauses chopping the vegetable just long enough to give Niall a questioning look. “Smoke up?”

“Yes, Harold. We smoke marijuana, weed, grass, Maryjane, whatever the fuck the kids are calling it these days.”

“Ganja,” Harry says.

“What?”

“Ganja. That’s the most popular name I think….,” and with that, Harry goes back to chopping his vegetables, rambling on about a drug survey he needs to run soon.

It’s not until dinner, when they’ve finally sat down with the steaming vegetable casserole in front of them, that Harry brings it up again.

“Just be careful, okay?” he says as he takes a sip of his water.

“What with the ‘ganga’? Okay, mom.” Niall replies absentmindedly as he tries to figure out a place to hide the vegetables so he doesn’t have to choke them down.

“Niall. Niall look at me,” Harry commands, grabbing Niall’s hand to get his attention. Niall looks at Harry, and for the first time in a long time, sees concern etched into those bright green eyes. “With everything. The whole thing. Just be careful, okay?”

Niall smiles fondly at his best friend. He realizes how much he misses Harry right then, because after Louis had come into Harry’s life, they’d grown apart. It wasn’t really Louis’ fault. They had just grown up, enveloped in their own separate lives.

“I will, Hazza. I promise,” he assures Harry.

In his lifetime, Niall had promised Harry a lot of things. He’d promised to take out the garbage. He’d promised to pay the electricity bill before the due date. He’d promised to eat more vegetables. Some he’d kept, most of them he hadn’t.

This one was one promise he made to Harry that he really really wished he had kept.

\-- 

Niall just doesn’t get it. It’s been two whole weeks since the kiss. Fourteen painfully long days Niall’s been waiting to taste Zayn’s lips again, and every night has been a disappointment. He can’t even rely on the hope that maybe he’d made it all up. Maybe the kiss hadn’t actually happened. But no matter how much he tried to make himself believe that, he knew it did. It happened, he was there, but Zayn’s pretending like it didn’t. And this has Niall’s stomach in twisting knots.

Maybe he was a bad kisser. Maybe it had just been a “caught up in the moment” kind of thing. Maybe Zayn regretted it.

Niall sighs as plops back on to his bed, his head hitting the soft pillow. He turns his head over to check the time on his alarm clock.

9:45.

He thinks of the kiss again. For the past fourteen days, that is all that’s been on his mind. It had been so wonderful. Niall had been craving ever since he saw Zayn in that elevator; Zayn with his soft hazel eyes and anarchic allure.

Then Niall realizes that he is, in fact, a little pissed off. You can’t go around kissing people and expect it to be nothing. Because it wasn’t nothing, not to Niall anyway. And just because he’s chilled out, just because he’s nonchalant, he shouldn’t expect everyone else to act the same way.

So he decides that he’s angry, angry at the beautiful boy who lives in the room next to his, for kissing him and thinking is was no big deal.

And he certainly isn’t going to Zayn’s room tonight. Fuming with anger, and a little bit of hurt, Niall turns of his lamp, shuts his eyes and tries to go to sleep.

It’s exactly 10:04 when Niall hears the soft raps on the door. He knows for sure because he hasn’t been able to sleep. His eyes are wide open, staring as the numbers on his alarm change with every passing minute.

He contemplates blowing it off, pretending that he’s asleep or that he’s not even in his room. But he reckons it’s probably Harry anyway.

“Come in,” he says, pulling himself upright on the bed. The door creaks open to reveal a willowy silhouette, but it’s not tall enough to be Harry.

“Turn on the light,” he says. He knows who it is, but he wants to be sure.

The light comes on with a flash, the brightness so sudden that Niall sees black spots for a few seconds before his eyes adjust to it again. As his eyes come back to their senses, he sees none other than Zayn Malik standing in his doorway.

“Hey,” Zayn says, softly. It seems that everything he does is quiet, calm. Like he’s too afraid to speak up.

“Hey,” Niall replies, running a hand through his hair. He reckons he looks like a bum, hair standing up and eyes puffy. He should be mad, he wasmad, but with Zayn standing on his doorway with such a solemn expression makes his heart sink.

“You okay?” Zayn asks. He hasn’t budged the door. That’s when Niall remembers that Zayn’s never even been in his room. Niall’s always the one that goes to Zayn, he’s always the one that starts up conversations, and frankly, Niall’s had just about enough.

And then he remembers to be mad again.

“No, Zayn. I’m not okay. You want to know why?” he can feel his voice rising a little bit.

Zayn looks taken aback and his arms cross defensively across his chest. “Yeah, I guess,” he mutters.

“Because you fucking kissed me Zayn. You kissed me and blew it off like it didn’t even fucking matter. I don’t know what it’s like in Bradford, but here you can’t go around kissing people and expect it to not mean anything. So I’m not okay because I’m not a goddamn napkin that you can use once and throw away!” He shouldn’t be getting this worked up. It was a kiss but goddammit it was just a kiss. But Niall had too many emotions attached going into that kiss, had waited for it too damn long. So it wasn’t just a kiss for him, it meant so much more.

Zayn stares at him, hard. He just leans against the door, arms crosses against his chest, and just stares.

And suddenly, Niall can’t take it anymore. He throws the duvet of himself and stalks over to the door, his eyes on the floor the entire time. And he passes the door–and Zayn—he feels their arms brush together slightly, and it sends shiver through Niall’s body.

That’s when he realizes that he’s madder at himself than anyone else. He’s mad at how much he’s let Zayn have such an effect on him. He’s mad that the kiss means so much to him. He’s mad that he’s let himself get to this point again when he promised himself he wouldn’t. Because the last time he did…

He’s crying now. He can feel the hot tears running down his cheeks. He brings up his arm and wipes them away with his sweatshirt.

Niall walks over to the kitchen counter, where there is a bowl he uses to keep his keys. As he’s reaching into the bowl, he feels someone grab him by his hips and spin him around.

Zayn’s hazel eyes are burning into Niall’s blue one. Then his lips smash into Niall’s, rough and desperate. Nothing at all like their first kiss.

Niall’s arms fly up to wrap around Zayn’s neck and Zayn tightens his grip on Niall’s hips. Zayn pokes his tongue out and Niall responds, grabbing it with his own and licking into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn bucks his hips forward, swiftly lifting Niall off the ground and on to the kitchen counter. And as if they’ve done this a hundred times before, Niall wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist, bringing him so close that they’re torsos are presses flushed against each other.

When they finally break apart, they’re both panting. Zayn rests his forehead against Niall’s and whispers, “I would never throw you away, Niall.”

And then they’re back to kissing. Niall on the counter, fingers intertwined in Zayn’s hair, Zayn pressed fully against Niall, hands running up and down Niall’s back.

Niall had felt his erection coming on from the moment Zayn spun him around. But now, it was so achingly hard that even Zayn could feel it poking against his stomach. 

Zayn lifts Niall off the counter, hands cupping Niall’s butt cheeks. As Niall slides down his body on the way to the ground, he feels Zayn’s hard cock twitch with the friction.

He looks up at the dark skinned boy who is just slightly taller than him. His hazel eyes look almost brown now, clouded with lust. Niall feels another tingle run through his throbbing cock.

“You want?” Zayn asks, his voice hoarse from all the kissing. His lips are red, wet, and raw and Niall so badly wants to see them wrapped around him.

Niall nods eagerly, not trusting himself to be able to say much.

Zayn’s lips are on his again, messy and rough. He feels Zayn reach for the buttons on his trousers and busies himself trying to get Zayn’s shirt off.

He’ll finally be able to see all of Zayn’s tattoos.

As Zayn fumbles with his button, his knuckles lightly brush again Niall’s cock and Niall lets out a loud moan.

“Zayn—fuck just—fucking hurry,” he mutters. His body is shuddering want and he reckons at this pace, he’ll get off just with Zayn undoing is buttons.

Niall pulls off Zayn’s shirt with one swift motion as he desperately tries to distract himself from how fucking close Zayn’s hands are away from his dick and he lets out a soft gasp. Because even though Zayn had told him he had a lot of tattoos, Niall had never imagined this. Zayn’s torso is littered with ink, both black and coloured, stretching from his hip bone all the way to his collar bone. Zayn with his slender body, with the sweat glistening off of the intricate artwork covering it, Niall swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

But then a few seconds later, when Zayn drops to his knees in front of Niall with flushed cheeks and red lips, he takes that back. Because this, with Zayn kneeling in front of him, ready and willing to take Niall into his mouth and pleasure him with his tongue, this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And then when Zayn finally tugs off Niall’s boxers and releases his throbbing erection, Niall fucking whimpers.

“Zayn, please,” he begs, bucking his lips forward a little. His forehead is covered in beads of sweat and god, he’s never felt this desperate in his life.

Then, Zayn looks up at his through those criminally long lashes, lifts his index finger and slowly runs his finger along Niall’s tip. Niall whines helplessly, eyes lolling to the back of his head.

Fucking tease.

“Zayn—ah—I swear to god—“and that’s all he can get out because he feels Zayn’s tongue lick a stripe up his erection. His hand is wrapped around Niall, pumping slowly, and Niall can feel himself leaking already.

Then, Zayn takes his cock into his mouth completely and Niall lets out a very loud moan. As he slides his mouth up and down Niall’s shaft, Niall dares to look at Zayn. His cheeks are hollow, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth as he uses it generously. Waves of pleasure course through Niall’s body and with great effort, he lifts his arm off the countertop—which is the only thing holding him up at this point—and locks his fingers in Zayn hair.

“Fuck – look at me – ah – Zayn, babe,” he pants. He wants to see the darkness in Zayn’s eyes, needs to know that Zayn wants this as much as he does.

Zayn’s eyes flick up at him and that’s when Niall notices that he’s palming himself him through his trousers. This sends another hot flash up his spine. Zayn is so fucking hot and bothered by sucking him off that he has to touch himself?

And this thought is what finally pushes Niall over the edge, “Zayn, I’m coming – I’m-” But Zayn doesn’t slip him out of his mouth. Instead, he hollows his cheeks even more, tilts his head up a tiny bit, and fucking winks.

Niall feels an intense burst of pleasure flow throughout his body and all he sees his white flashes and he comes into Zayn’s mouth in short spurts. Zayn laps it up, sucking on Niall’s cock as Niall convulses with the orgasm rippling through his body.

With one final suck, Zayn pulls Niall out of this mouth with a loud pop, a string of Niall’s cum still hanging from his bottom lip. He wipes his mouth with the back on his hand, stand up and starts licking right into Niall’s mouth again.

Niall can taste himself on Zayn’s tongue, salty and sweet. Zayn pushes into him, rutting his erection against Niall’s thigh. Zayn’s desperate has Niall’s cock twitching again already, but he ignores it.

Niall brings his hand between the two of them and slips it below Zayn’s waist. As he slowly strokes Zayn’s throbbing cock, he feels Zayn’s head fall on to his shoulder.

“Yeah, Niall, just like that,” he whimpers against Niall’s shoulder.

“I could—” Niall starts to say but he feels Zayn shake his head.

“No – fuck – no just keep going. Feels – fuck, Niall – feels too good.” His voice is quivering and shit, Niall needs to stop another oncoming erection.

Niall undoes Zayn’s trousers, pushing it down so it’s pooling around his ankles. He sees Zayn’s boxers tent up and hurriedly pushes that down as well.

As Zayn’s cock is finally released from captivity, Niall gasps at is size.

“Niall – fuck – just touch me,” Zayn whines, thrusting his hip forward to find some kind of friction.

Smiling to himself, Niall grabs onto the sweltering cock, so cut and think in his nimble hands. He starts to tug, slowly at first, then faster as the feels Zayn’s pre-cum leaking into this hands.

“Ah – faster – fuck Niall – feels so good,” Zayn moans, his fingers digging deeper into Niall’s hip. He’s sure that’s going to leave a mark, but he’s quite glad about that. At least he won’t have to spend time wondering if he’d imagined this or note.

Niall feels Zayn lift his head off his shoulders and look up at the ceiling. He’s letting out filthy sounds and Niall warmth that runs cock this time. He wants to run his fingers along Zayn’s ass cheek, tease his entrance just a little bit, but he doesn’t know how far he’s allowed to go just yet. So, he flicks his wrist just a tiny bit, something he knows makes him feel good, and smiles as Zayn lets out a loud groan.

“I’m coming – Niall – ah, “Zayn pants against him, head tilted up to he’s glancing at the ceiling. Niall flicks his wrist against, and little more pressure this time, and Zayn is flowing out on to his hand is short spurts as he shouts a loud “NIALL” at the heavens above. Then he brings his head back down against Niall’s forehead.

They’re both panting, covered his sweat and cum, their foreheads resting against each other. Niall’s eyes are open as he stares at Zayn, flushed because of him, because of his fingers. Then Zayn opens his eyes, faded back into their all their hazel glory, and looks into Niall’s eyes.

“We should do that again,” he whispers. Niall nods, raising his hand to brush away the hair that’s fallen in front of Zayn’s eyes.

“We definitely should.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tides are getting dangerous and Zayn is pulling Niall into his ocean. Darker chapter. 
> 
> \-- B <3

When Harry first started spending of his time at Louis’, Niall admits that he was quite resentful about it. He felt abandoned, like Harry had just given him up for the next best thing that had come along.

“That’s not true, Niall, and you know it,” Harry had said. The thing was, Niall didn’t know it. To be honest, he still hadn’t gotten completely over it.

But now, he was glad that Harry spent most of his time at Louis. Because god Zayn was demanding and god did Niall love to give into his demands.

From the moment Niall walked into the flat to the moment he walked out, Zayn was there. Zayn was there touching him, kissing him, playing with his hair. As soon as Niall’s keys clanked against the bowl, Zayn’s lips were on his, pushing him up against the front door. Sometimes they’d make it to the bedroom, sometimes they wouldn’t.

Today, they hadn’t.  

They are lying on the living room couch together, Zayn panting from Niall just sucking him off. Niall had just finished cleaning both of them off.

Niall is tucked into the nook between Zayn’s neck and shoulders, his index finger tracing wings tattooed across Zayn’s chest.

“C’mere,” he hears Zayn mumble into his hair and feels his head being tilted upward. Zayn’s chapped lips land on his and Niall presses forward. Niall smiles into the kiss because even after all they’ve done together, their kisses still manage to make his head spin.

He looks up at Zayn, at his lustrous hazel eyes and defines cheekbones. At his sweeping lashes and set jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” Niall sighs.

Zayn smiles at him, all slow and sultry. His hazel eyes cloud over and he licks his lips. Bringing his mouth right against Niall’s ear, he whispers, “Want you to ride me.”

Niall feels a cold chill run through his spine. His entire body goes rigid and he jerks away from Zayn. The taste of rotten eggs fills his mouth and his stomach churns.

“What? What’s wrong?” he hears Zayn ask. His blood his pounding in his ears and he can’t feel his fingers.

“I—I can’t,” he stammers, untangling himself from Zayn’s arms. He feels like puking.

Niall runs to the bathroom and leans over the toilet just in time to empty the contents of his entire stomach into the bowl.

“Niall?” he hears Zayn call from the living room. He hurriedly gets up off the floor, slams the door shut and locks it. He can’t see Zayn right now, not like this.

Breathe, he tells himself self. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Harry told you. Go to your happy place. Niall thinks of day his parents took him to Alton Towers. His mom holding his hand, his dad buying him ice cream. He smiles at the distant memory, so long ago that is more of a dreamy haze than a memory, really. But it always calms him down, sets a serene peace over his mind.

Then he hears soft knocks on the door accompanied by Zayn’s soft, “Niall? You alright?”

He can’t deal with this, not yet.

“Yeah. I just need some time, yeah?” he says.

“’kay,” he hears Zayn say. There are footsteps, a door closing, and finally Niall can breathe again.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in there, sitting on the cold hard bathroom floor, thinking of his happy place. It’s only when he hears Harry calling out his name that he unlocks the door, shouts for Harry to grab his clothes off the couch, and gets up off the cool tiles.

\--

Three days. Niall doesn’t talk to Zayn for three days.

He times his dinner, bathroom breaks, leaving and coming back from classes all around Zayn so he can avoid him at all costs.

Zayn knocks on his door a few times the first couple days. Niall knows it’s him because his knocks are soft, quiet and rhythmic, just like him. When Niall hears it, he stuff his headphones into his ears and blasts Desperado of fill volume. The songs three minutes long, and whenever he takes out his headphones, the knocking’s stopped.

It’s when Harry comes over one day that he notices Niall’s suspicious behaviour.

“What’s going on?” he asks, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

“Whadya mean? Nothing,” Niall replies curtly. If Harry finds out what he is up to, Niall’s done for.

Harry doesn’t budge. “I mean, why are you so jumpy? And where’s Zayn?”

“I just had a lot of coffee today, okay? And I don’t know where the fuck Zayn is, do you think I have a tracking device on him?” He needs this conversation to end right now.

Harry’s expression relaxes a tiny bit and Niall lets out a breath. “Okay, whatever. Don’t tell me. But whatever your problem actually is, deal with it. Don’t ignore it like you always do because that never fixes anything. Ever.”

But Harry doesn’t get it. Niall can’t deal with this, not right now. He’s finally got Zayn, after all the pining and the day dreaming, he’s finally gothim and he can’t afford to lose him. Not because of this. It’s taken up too much of his life, ruined too many things from him, he will not let Zayn be another thing he loses because of it.

All he has to do is wait for the feeling to pass, really. The feeling of fear imploding inside him, of disgust wrenching his gut every time he thinks of seeing Zayn. It’ll pass, and he’ll be able to go back to kissing Zayn, and cuddling with him and forgetting this incident even happened.

It will work. It has to. Because Niall’s not sure if he can keep himself together if it doesn’t.

So he avoids Zayn for three days, hoping for the feeling to pass, ignoring his problem till it goes away.

On the third night, Niall hears Zayn’s soft rapping on his door as trying to compose a contemporary piece for his Post-Modernism Music class. He reaches for his headphones right away, trying to drown out the feeling of dread mixed with guilt forming in the bottom of his stomach. But the knocking subsides right away. Then, a few moments later, something white slides into his room from underneath the door. It’s a sheet of paper. He listens for Zayn’s footsteps as he walks away from Niall’s door and goes into his own room. As soon as his door shuts, Niall’s shoots out of his bed and scoops up the sheet.

It’s a note. And Niall recognizes Zayn’s artful scrawl right away.

His heart beats rapidly and he quickly scan the page to find anything to signify a break-up. His eyes are stinging already and he can feel his dinner creeping back up. But there isn’t anything like it.

Just read it, he tells himself. His eyes are blurred with tears and his hands are shaking.

Pull yourself together, Niall.

He blinks away the tears, put the letter down on his bed, and starts reading:

> Hey,
> 
> I hope you’re okay. Honestly, I don’t really understand what’s happening right now. Well, I kind of have a guess but I also don’t want to make any assumptions. If it’s about that thing I asked about…I understand if you’re not ready. It’s a big step and you should take as much time as you need. But like I said, I don’t want to make any assumptions. You asked me for some space and I’m cool with that. Although I do kind of wish you’d let me know what’s going on, even it’s just through a text. I’m kind of a head case worrying about you right now, aha. I just really miss you, Niall. Talk to you soon, hopefully.
> 
>                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Z.

   
  
---  
  
 

Niall’s head is spinning. There are a million thoughts running through his head, he trying to catch one of them so he can form a coherent idea but they refuse to stop. So instead of trying make up his mind, he give himself up to his heart. And his heart leads him straight to Zayn door, his knuckles rapping on the wood before his brain has a chance to process this and fuck it up.

The door creaks open, and just as Niall’s land on Zayn, his heart is the one that causes him to launch himself into Zayn’s arms, bury his head in Zayn’s shoulder and breathe in Zayn’s all too familiar spicy vanilla scent.

“Don’t let go okay? Please, don’t let go,” Niall begs. He feels Zayn’s arms tightly wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Never,” Zayn promises. And Niall believes him

They hold on to each other for dear life, Niall clutching on to Zayn’s gray avengers t-shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Zayn gripping Niall firmly as if he’s afraid Niall will float away.  

When the finally break apart, they do so only because Niall needs to say something and he’s worried that this courage he’s mustered up won’t burn so brightly if he doesn’t get it all out now.

“We need to talk,” Niall says, looking at Zayn.

Zayn nods. “Come, I’ll make us some tea.”

It’s about five minutes later, when they both are sat next to Zayn’s open window with the city alive beneath them, that Niall starts talking.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was eleven,” he starts. Everyone has a story. A story to explain why they are the way they are. This is Niall’s story.

Zayn nods once. He doesn’t offer his condolences, doesn’t give Niall a look of pity.

“My brother was with them, too. I lost my family, everyone I’d ever loved. On June 6th of 2004 is when my life came crashing down around me.”

He looks at Zayn, gauges for a reaction. There is sorrow in his eyes, his face is solemn, but he doesn’t rush to give Niall a pat on the back or a charitable sigh.

It gives Niall some extra strength. Zayn doesn’t treat him like he’s breakable, as pretend that his empathetic condolences with help Niall come to peace with this. That’s what he hated the most. When people expected him to move on just because they consoled him with a “they went to a better place”.

 So Niall keeps going.

“I got put in foster care. They were trying to look for some of my relatives, see if anyone would take me in. So they put in a program thing called Short-Term fostering, where I’d stay with a foster family for few months while they found someone to take me in. So I packed up all my belongings in one suitcase, and went to go live with the Styles family.”

Zayn’s eyes flickers in recognition and his mouth falls open a tiny bit. “Harry?” he asks.

Niall nods. “Harry’s mum is an exceptional lady. Her ex-husband was a very rich man and when they got divorced, she used money she got from her divorce to open up a foster home. Anne, that’s her name. I was very lucky kid, well, considering. There are some real horror stories about foster homes. So, yeah, in regards to that I got off well. In the time I was supposed to be there, Harry and I became really good friends. We were inseparable. I ended up staying there much longer than I was supposed to because they couldn’t find anyone to take me in and honestly, I didn’t want to leave either. On my twelfth birthday, Anne decided to adopt me. I was over the moon. My best friend became my brother and what else can a twelve year old really ask for?”

Zayn’s smiling now. It’s not a pity smile or an uncomfortable grimace. It’s pleasant and it makes Niall truly believe that he is happy for the twelve year old Niall that found a family.

Niall takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the next part. Because now, now comes the part that he’s been dreading to the very marrow of his bones. His stomach twists and he can feel a familiar cringe crawl up his neck.

“Okay. The next bit is a little tougher, okay? Let me know anytime you want me to stop. If you don’t want to know, I get it. Just, you might not be able to look at me the same way again. But I need to say something, at least for my own sanity. Okay?”

Zayn nods. Sliding his chair closer to Niall, he takes Niall’s hand off the table and intertwines it with his own.

Niall looks over at Zayn. At the beautiful boy with the soulful eyes that’s got him bearing his soul. And suddenly, a serene relief washes over him as he realizes that he’s not going anywhere.

“I was 16 when I first met Donny. He was 19. He worked at the corner store just around our house and he would slip Harry cigarettes when Harry was going through yet another one of his phases. I had the biggest crush on him. He rode a motorcycle and had a lip ring and would always give me extra chips when I ordered a plate. So when he asked me to go to cinema with him one day, I tripped over my feet running home to tell Harry.

      It was great. We went out a few more times and then he asked me to be his boyfriend and it felt so great. He had this shitty apartment a few streets over from where the Styles house and I’d always be there. We’d make-out and fool around a little whenever he wasn’t working or I wasn’t in school. Sometimes he’d make me skip school and just stay with him all day. He made me feel special and that’s all anyone ever really wants, isn’t it? Yeah he wasn’t really doing much with his life and I didn’t stop to think why a 19 year old was hanging around with a kid like me. Because I was falling hard and fast and before I knew it, he had my heart strings wrapped around his fingers. I was willing to do anything for him.

One day, about three months into our relationship, we were sitting on his bed fooling around when he asked me to have sex. I blanched and booked it out of there, making up a bullshit excuse. I wasn’t ready for that. I thought he’d forget it about it the next time I saw him but he didn’t. He kept asking about it and begging and I kept telling him I didn’t want to, that I wasn’t ready.

That’s when he started getting really manipulative. He’d tell me that I didn’t love him enough to go that far, or that I didn’t care enough about him. I talked to Harry about it because I started believing Donny. Maybe if I just did it, it’d prove how much I loved him. Harry told me to forget him, that if he was saying things like that than he was a creep. But how could I? I loved him, or I thought I did at least. When he brought it up again after I’d talked to Harry, I told him that Harry said I should wait until I was ready. And that’s when he cracked. He started screaming at me, telling me that I shouldn’t talk to other people about our sex life. He was manic. His eyes looked likes there was actual fire ignited in them.  It was chaotic. He was throwing things at the walls, at the door and all this time I was standing in the corner, frozen with fright. I’d never seen him act this angry.

He’d broken most of his things when he finally noticed me standing by the corner. He’d already broken most of his things, so he’d decided that I was next. He slid over to me, eyes menacing and smile vicious. Leaning over, he hissed “I want you to ride me.” I started shaking my head no, pulling away as he started pulling me closer, but he’d already made up his mind. It wasn’t my decision, it was his.”

Niall feels his throat catch. He’d tried to forget everything about Donny, about that time on his life, but it was branded into his brain. Even now, even after all these years, he can feel Donny’s hot breath on his neck.

He notices that Zayn’s still holding on to his hand. He’s not looking at Niall anymore, but his eyes are trained on the floor instead.

“Can’t even bear to look at me, huh?” Niall tries to joke, but it comes out limp.

Zayn raises his head to look at Niall and Niall realizes that his eyes aren’t full of disgust, but rather horror.

Zayn shakes his head, looking at Niall square in the eye. He looks terrified. “I – that’s what – that’s what I said t-to you. I s-said those – those exact w-words.” His voice comes out shaky.

Niall pushes down the awful vile that climbs up his throat. He looks at their hands, both of them grasping so tightly that he can’t tell whose is whose. “You couldn’t have known,” he whispers back, truthfully.

“Niall, y-you shouldn’t have gone through that. I – it wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t your fault,” Zayn says more steadily, looking into Niall’s eyes.

Niall scoffs. “Maybe. But there’s more Zayn, and it’s uglier. Because that, what Donny did, that was his decision. What happened next in entirely on me. You sure you want to hear it?”

Zayn nods curtly.

“I stayed with him Zayn. Even after that, even after what he did to me, I stayed with him. That night, I walked home alone, threw my clothes in the dumpster, got into bed and cried the entire night. Then the next morning I went back to him. I walked to his house, without anyone telling me to, without him asking me to. I pretended like the night before didn’t even happen. And I kept letting him do it. I’d say no every time, hoping he’d listen. But he never did.” Niall expects Zayn to let go of his, drop it in disgust or shame. But he doesn’t.

Instead he asks, “Why?”

Niall’s taken aback. He’s told this to five people in his entire life: Harry, Gemma, Anne, Louis and Liam. And never did any one them ever asked him why. They said he was young, naïve, that Donny had too much control over him. And for the most part they were right. But not one of their explanations ever justify why he did what he did. Because for god sakes, he was sixteen. He wasn’t six. He understood what was going on.

“Why did you stay, Niall?” Zayn repeats. He sound appalled, or mortified. He just sounds curious.

“Because Donny was mine,” he says. Niall doesn’t know where that came from. He’d never thought about it like that. But now, now that he’s said it out loud, it made sense. “I lost everything that was mine when I was eleven. My parents, my brother, my house, my friends, everything. When I moved into Harry’s house, nothing was really ever mine. I shared Harry’s mother, I shared his sister, I shared his room, I shared his friends. Everything that Anne bought me, even though she bought it for me only, it always felt borrowed. Donny was something that was my own, that I never had to share. And yeah, I was very passionate about him, but don’t think I ever really loved him. He was someone I could call my own and that meant a lot to me. So I went back to him. I went back because I was a selfish sixteen year old than wanted something that was just mine.” His eyes were filled to the brim, and with this final confession, they spill over completely. And they refuse to stop.

Niall feels Zayn pulling him into his lap and buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn strokes him back, while whispering, “It wasn’t your fault, Niall. It wasn’t at all. You weren’t being selfish, you were being human. Donny acted like an animal, it’s Donny’s fault. You said no. You said no.”

Niall keeps sobbing, his chest shaking uncontrollably. Zayn rubs his back the whole time, at Niall empties all of his tears onto Zayn’s shoulder.

“That’s why I can’t, Zayn. I just….” Niall attempts between sobs.

“Take as much time as you need,” Zayn reassures him.

“No…I don’t know if I can ever. It’s been four years, Zayn. I just don’t know if I can,” Niall finally admits. It’s out, the real and true reason no one else stays. Niall can’t give them what they want, and they all get tired of waiting.

He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for Zayn’s reaction.

Zayn’s quiet for a while, pondering over something. “Then we’ll figure something out,” he finally says and Niall can feel his heart swell up.

His chest feels lighter, as if someone had lifted a heavy rock that was resting on top of it. He wants to kiss Zayn all over, on every part of his beautiful person, on every inch of his beautiful soul. But he’s exhausted.

As Niall’s sobbing turns down to sniffles, Zayn speaks up again. “What happened to him, Niall? Did that fiend get thrown in jail?”

“No. Donny – he had a friend that was an officer. They said that I went back to him, that I was fine with it at the time. They – no one believed me,” Niall hiccups.

“I believe you. All the people that really matter believed you,” Zayn consoles.

“What if he does it to other kids, Zayn? He’s older now, he psychically grown a lot more too,” Niall says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweat shirt.

“He’s grown psychically? How do you know that, Niall?” Zayn pulls Niall from his shoulder and looks straight into his eyes.

“Me and Harry – we accidently ran into him at a club,” Niall explains quickly.

“Where? When? Did he say anything to you?” Zayn’s voice is shaking again, but this time it’s more with anger than with horror.

“At Chillies a while ago. And no. He looked just as surprised to see me. We got out of there as quickly as possible,” he tells Zayn. 

Zayn look at him, eyes fuming with fury. “He needs to be in jail.”

“Zayn, don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Niall reassures him.

“Okay. Just – I’m going to be worried every time you go to a bar then,” Zayn admits, scratching the back of his neck abashed.

“Well then you should come with us!” Niall offers, his eyes lighting up. It would be nice to finally get all his favourite people to hang out together.

Zayn looks positively horrified at Niall’s suggestion. “Uhm – I don’t – “

“Why not? Trust me, they make not look it but they’re such fun, I promise!” Niall raves, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“I’m not worried about them. I’m just not very – uhm – social,” Zayn shrugs.

“What? You’re plenty social, very good with your mouth,” Niall nudges playfully. This earns him a smile.

“Fine. I guess one night wouldn’t hurt,” Zayn finally gives in.

In celebration, Niall plants a loud kiss on his lips.

Who knew something good would actually come out of dealing with his problems? Maybe Harry is truly on to something

\--


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are completely entitled to being as mad at me as you can be. I have absolutely no excuse for this extremely tardy update, except for complete lack of inspiration (sometimes also known as laziness). I hope you enjoy this and I, with all my heart, apologize for sucking as a person. LEAVE COMMENTS PLEASE I LOVE YOU. 
> 
> \-- B <3 
> 
> *Unbeta'd. Sorry for any errors!

“Are you and Zayn together now?”

And there it is. Out of nowhere as Louis strolls into the kitchen, grabbing an apple right out of their fruit basket, Liam in tow behind him, there it is. Blatant and simple. The question Niall’s been pondering over for days now.

“Huh?” is the reply he’s able to muster up. He even adds a puzzled face to it, trying to make it somewhat genuine.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Ireland. We barely see you anymore, you’re always holed up in your flat, but you have that freshly fucked glow whenever we do. So either you’ve found a way to give yourself a blow job, which by the way if you have I do hope you are willing to demonstrate, or you’ve been hooking up with the mysterious boy in flat 313.” Louis bites into the apple with a loud crunch then fixes a penetrating gaze on Niall, waiting for an answer.

But then again, so is Niall. Niall’s been waiting for an answer too. Or a question. Or whatever the fuck gets them talking about it. Because he’d answer Louis in a heartbeat if he actually _knew._ They act like a couple, kiss like a couple, give each other mind numbing blow jobs like a couple. But _are_ they a couple? Niall’s given up trying to figure it out.

So, he shrugs because that’s the best he can give Louis at the moment.

“Did you just shrug? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Liam, do you take that as a satisfying answer?” Louis raises him eyebrows at Liam.

It’s Liam’s turn to stare at Niall. “Everything alright, Ni?” he asks. They’re both looking at him, expecting an answer that’s better than a shrug, but he just doesn’t know what that answer is.

“I’m fine. Look, we haven’t labelled it. We’re not in secondary school anymore,” Niall says dismissively. He hasn’t even told Harry about him and Zayn. And he’s not going to be happy when he hears it from Louis first.

 “Who are you and what did you do with Niall?” Louis asks, mocking a shocked expression. Niall rolls his eyes.

“Where the fuck is Harry? He was supposed to be here like a half hour ago,” Niall says, trying to change the topic.

Of course it works because what’s more important to Louis than Harry?

“He’s not here? He texted me telling me to meet him here,” Louis tells him.

“Same,” Liam nods at the cell phone he’s holding.

Then they hear Harry’s rumbling laughter. Coming from _Zayn’s_ room.

Louis and Liam look toward Niall for an explanation, Niall stares back not knowing what the hell to say.

Thankfully, the door cracks open just then and Harry walks out of Zayn’s room, Zayn in tow.

“Hey guys,” Harry greets, grinning wide.

 “Hi,” Zayn says with a soft smile, eyes trained mostly on the ground.

Niall, Liam and Louis just stare, mouths open, unable to muster up words.

 “I’m sorry my friends are such freaks,” Harry apologizes to Zayn, giving the other three an appalled look.

Zayn chuckles. “Eh, I’ve met worse,” he shrugs back.

“Yeah so Zayn’s coming out with us tonight,” Harry tells them.

“Really?” Niall finally manages to squeak.

“Yeah, uhm, that alright?” Zayn asks, biting on his bottom lip and scuffing his feet against the floor.

Niall face splits into a grin, “Of course! Yes!”

And that seems to get Liam and Louis’ voice back too.

“Yeah it’ll be a riot,” Liam says, nodding at Zayn with a smile.

“We’re rowdy,” Louis winks.

And just like that, it’s settled.

-

They’re riding in a taxicab; Louis, Liam, Harry and Niall all squished in the back with Zayn sitting in the front.

“Why were you in Zayn’s rooms?” Niall hisses at Harry, making sure Zayn is busy giving the driver directions.

“I was making a new friend,” Harry shrugs, smiling cheekily.

“I swear to god, Styles, I will tell Louis about that peanut butter incident,” Niall threatens, arching his eye brows.

He watches as Harry’s eyes go wide at the memory.

“Fine,” he snaps. “I, uhm, knew there was something going on between you two and I just wanted to make sure everything was good.”

He stares at Niall, green eyes wide and unblinking.

“You, uhm, you knew?” Niall coughs, avoiding Harry’s penetrating gaze.

“Of course I did, dumbass.”

Niall feels Harry nudge his shoulder gently and he can’t help but smile. Harry’s always there, he’s always _been_ there.

“Thanks, Haz. For taking care of me,” he mumbles, biting his inner cheek.

“Always, Ni.”

\--

So, apparently tonight’s unspoken mission was to get Zayn as drunk as possible.

“One more tequila shot,” Louis shouts, face beet red from the one too many beers he’s chugged down.

Zayn looks over at Niall, face just as flushed as Louis’, eyes swimming in the blissful numbness of alcohol, smiling uncontrollably. His hair is a mess, lips wet from the Rum and Coke he been using as a chaser.

“Niall,” he slurs, eyes going in and out of focus as he stumbles over to Niall.

“Hey babe. Having fun?” Niall asks, reaching out to keep Zayn upright.

Zayn nods, hiccupping loudly. “They’re so fun. And nice. Just like you. Except I don’t want to kiss any of them.”

Niall laughs, beer warm in his stomach.

“I don’t want to kiss any of them either,” Niall nods back, hoping that this drunk and open Zayn will give him some insight on what’s going on.

“I like them. I like you,” Zayn mutters, leaning heavily on Niall.

And Niall feels like he’s twelve again because he can’t help but think _“Like? Or_ like _like?”_

\--

They don’t even make it into their apartment before Zayn presses his lips against Niall’s and paws greedily at his zipper.

“Zayn, let’s go inside first,” Niall laughs against his mouth, fumbling around his pocket for the keys.

He finally finds them and opens the door, both of them tumbling into the flat.

Zayn doesn’t waste any time, lifting Niall with his hips and pushing him up against the door.

“I need you, Niall. I need you so much,” Zayn mumbles, mouth pressing kisses along Niall’s collar bone. He slots his hips in between Niall’s legs and grinds rhythmically.

“I need you too, Zayn,” Niall says, chuckling at the hard-on Zayn’s already sporting.

But then Zayn stops. Stops the kissing, the grinding, and instead pulls Niall’s face into his hands, his hazel eyes looking square into Niall’s.

“No, you don’t understand. I _need_ you, Niall. I _need_ you like my lungs need air. I need you so much that feel like I can’t fucking _breathe_ until I kiss you.”

Niall just stares back, back into those hazel eyes that once looked so cold, so lifeless. And as he stares back, he realizes that they aren’t lifeless, or cold, or emotionless. They’re just clouded, covered up, trying to mask all the pain they carry.  

As he looks back, he finally sees the wounded boy those eyes keep hidden. Sees the boy who’s seen too much, done too much. He sees the boy who just really needs someone; someone to lean on, someone to hold on to, someone to love.

And in that moment he finds himself falling in deep, too deep.

He drowns himself completely in those hazel eyes, drowns himself in the boy those eyes belong to.

“Zayn. I’m ready,” he whispers back after what feels like an eternity.

“What?”

“I-I’m ready,” he breathes, reaching up to grab Zayn’s face in his hands. He crashes his lips into Zayn’s, pushing back, grinding his cock against Zayn’s hip.

“Are-are you sure?” he hears Zayn ask, breathless.

“Yes. God yes. Please, babe. Yes.”

And with that, Zayn wraps Niall’s legs around himself tightly, walking them both into his room. Niall scratches at Zayn’s t-shirt, fingers desperate to feel his soft flesh. He tugs it off, tossing it to some corner.

Their lips don’t leave each other for a second, their erections growing harder against each other with every passing moment.

Zayn drops Niall softly on his bed, standing up to look at him.

He cocks his head to the side, face still flushed from the tequila. “You sure, Ni?”

And as Niall looks up at him, body littered with artwork, red lips caught between his teeth, he can’t think of anything else he wants.

“Yes.”

And with that, Zayn seizes him by the waist and flips him over. He tugs Niall’s trousers and boxers up with one quick pull, barking at Niall to get rid of his tshirt.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Niall hears Zayn pants behind him.

Niall feels Zayn crawl over him, hovering over Niall on his hands and knees. He gently presses his lips along Niall’s spine, pepping him with kisses.

Niall whimpers at the supple contact, his erection presses between his stomach and the bed.

Zayn’s soft kisses make his dick ache so hard that he can’t help but rut against the mattress to find some kind of relief.

“Zayn,” he whines needily, desperately rubbing his cock against the scratchy cotton sheets.

“Spread your legs for me, love,” Zayn tells him.

He does as he’s told, face buried in the sheet.

“Okay. I’m going to lube you up now, okay babe? It’s going to be a little cold but it makes everything feel so much better,”

Niall nods, waiting for the contact.

When it comes, he lets out a gasp, not because of the coldness, but because of the pleasure.

Zayn’s fingers, slippery and cold, tease his entrance slightly.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just me okay. I’m just going to put one finger in, at first. Let me know when you’re ready for the next one,” Zayn says, voice as soft as velvet.

Niall nods, voice caught in his throat.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Zayn push in and –fuck it feels _good._

“Babe, you good? We can stop anytime you want,” Zayn says.

“No—no it’s good. Keep going.”

And so Zayn does.

After Niall says he’s ready, he pushes the second one in, curling it slightly so it just flicks Niall’s prostate. Niall lets out a moan, biting the pillow to keep from being too loud.

With the third finger in, Zayn isn’t even doing anything.

He watches hungrily as Niall fucks himself with his fingers, eyes squeezed shut and whimpering sinfully.

“Let me know when you’re ready for me, love,” Zayn says, eyes clouded as he watches Niall squirm.

“’M ready,” Niall pants, beads of sweat trickling down his neck.

“Get on your hands and knees, Niall,” Zayn says,

With Zayn’s fingers still inside him, he slowly trembles up onto this hands and knees. He feels his cheeks spread apart and an intense spurt of pleasure shoot up his spine as Zayn flicks his prostate.

“Okay. Now all you got to do is relax, okay babe? It will make everything so much better,” Zayn instructs, giving his ass cheek a tight squeeze as he gently pulls his fingers out.

And Niall complies, he relaxes, because everything’s felt alright so far. Fuck, they’ve felt _good_.

He listens to the rip of the condom packet, and the wet _shlucks_ as Zayn lubes up his cock. Niall grabs the sheets underneath him, waiting for Zayn.

Niall feels Zayn against his entrance, and when he finally pushes in– it’s fine. He’s fine.Niall is _fine_. It hurts, it does hurt a little, but it’s fine. And then as Zayn starts adjust himself and move inside Niall, it’s not just fine, it’s amazing.

“Fuck, Niall, you feel so good,” Zayn moans, fucking into him.

Niall can’t _think_ , let alone speak. He feels waves of pleasure pulsing throughout his entire body, reaching to the very tips of his toes. So, he lets out whatever sounds he can, groaning and moaning immorally.

And then, when Zayn’s grab his cock that’s been dangling in front of him, Niall can’t see anything but white.

He feels his eyes loll to the back of his head as his entire body ignites with pleasure.

Zayn starts slow at first, but as he feels Niall reacting, he pushes in further, faster.

And all Niall can say, the only thought that seems coherent right now is “ _Zayn_ ,”

So that’s what he says, over and over, panting, moaning, whimpering shamelessly as Zayn thrusts into him with vigour, with passion, with everything he has.

“Tell me you need me, Zayn. Say it again. Say it,” Niall pleads, desperately to hear it again, craving to feel wanted, needed.

“Fuck—I need you so fucking much, Ni-Niall. I need you,” Zayn admits, balls deep into Niall, body glistening from sweat.

And with that, Niall’s orgasm hits him like a truck, slamming into him so hard that he’d have fallen over if Zayn hadn’t been gripping onto him. He screams Zayn’s name out in pure bliss, exploding into Zayn’s hands uncontrollably.

Zayn finishes right after, thrusting into Niall one last time and pulling out just in time to nut all over his pale arse, making it drip with his come.

Niall collapses onto the bed, sticky with sweat and semen, too exhausted to move. Zayn cleans up after them, wiping Niall down while planting soft kisses down his body.

As Zayn crawls into bed after disposing of the soiled napkins, he wraps his arms around Niall, pulling him closer.

“Hey,” he whispers into Niall’s ear.

“Hey,” Niall smiles back.

“Was that okay?” Zayn asks, voice quivering slightly.

Niall nods, eyelids dropping with exhaustion. That was okay. Niall was okay. Everything was going to be okay

“Okay.”

As they drift off into sleep, Niall can’t help but think how thankful he is for Zayn. How thankful he is that he’s so understanding, so gentle, so wonderful.

And maybe he didn’t just think it, maybe he said it out loud, because he hears Zayn chuckle and nuzzle deeper into his neck.

Niall wraps his arms tighter around Zayn, buries his face in his hair, breathes his as much of the spicy vanilla scent he can because he’s scared that if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, Zayn will leave too, just like everyone else.

And he can’t lose Zayn, he just _can’t._

\--

Niall wakes up to breakfast in bed. He wakes up to bacon, and eggs and a bright eyed Zayn and he decides that nothing else has ever made him happier.

“Did you make this?” Niall asks, voice still groggy from the slumber.

Zayn nods, smiling brightly.

“And you’re sure it’s safe to eat?” he teases, mocking skepticism towards his plate.

“I don’t know. Guess you’ll just have to find out,” Zayn banters back, winking.

Niall narrows his eyes at Zayn, and then the plate. Then with a hand over his heart and a dramatic sigh, he announces, “if I die from eating this, I want Harry to have my guitar, Louis to have all my records, and Liam to have my Ronaldo singed football. “

“And what about me?” Zayn asks, pouting.

“You murdered me. Must be mental if you think you’re getting anything.”

And Zayn laughs out loud, the sound ringing clear throughout their flat. Niall laughs too. And then they kiss, sweetly at first, then with more passion, more energy.

Zayn gets a quick, dirty blowjob, a thank you for the breakfast that didn’t end up killing Niall.

And they fuck again, Niall writhing and moaning desperately and Zayn giving Niall everything and anything he can take.

They fall back asleep, stomach’s full and bodies satisfied.

Waking up again in the afternoon, they eat left overs and Zayn gives Niall a blowjob just because he wants to.

They watch a movie, order some, food, take a few hits off of Zayn’s bong.

Neither of them leave the apartment, not once, and Niall almost logs it away as his best day ever. He almost does until it’s 11:00 at night and his head’s in the clouds and he finally asks the question that’s been eating away at him for so long.

“What are we, Zayn?”

They’re both sitting up on the dining room table, feet tangled up in each other, looking at the blinking lights the city has to offer.

“What do you mean?” Zayn exhales slowly, releasing the smoke that just moments ago filled his lungs.

“This. What are we doing, Zayn? What is this?” He knows it sounds cliché, something straight out of a movie, but he doesn’t know how else to go about it, how else to scratch away that itch that’s been haunting him for so long.

He looks at Zayn, searches his face for something, anything.

Zayn takes his time answering, taking another hit and exhaling before he speaks.

“Why does it have to be anything? It’s good now, so great, so why does it have to be anything else?” His eyes are red, lidded. They look cold again, nothing like they were yesterday.

“Because I’m not like you, Zayn. I need something to hold on to, something solid,” Niall pleads, eyes blinking rapidly. They sting as they well up, but he doesn’t want to cry. Zayn is his something good, something happy; he doesn’t want to cry over Zayn.

“And I’m not like you, Niall. I can’t give you something solid. Not right now,” Zayn whispers, looking away from Niall’s face and down on the floor.

“Why?” Niall hears the break in his voice, tries to keep it from quivering.

“Because I just can’t, Niall. And I need you to understand that,” he snaps, eyes flitting over everything except for Niall.

Niall feels a bitter twist in his heart, throat clenching.

“But I don’t understand, Zayn. Yesterday—yesterday you said it. You—you said you needed m-me,” he stammers, heart beating furiously.

He'd heard it. He was there. Zayn had said it; he'd said it with his mouth, with his eyes.

Niall can feel the walls closing in on him as panic strikes his brain. This can’t be happening, not now, not after everything…

His head drops into his hands.

It’s spinning again, his world. It’s spinning out of control.

Then he feels Zayn move closer to him and slowly lift his face up.

The eyes are there again, soft and hazel, the ones Niall’s already drowned himself in.

“Hey. Hey, listen. This has _nothing_ to do with you and _everything_ to do with me. Okay?” Zayn whispers tenderly, caressing Niall’s cheeks. “I do need you, Niall. But I also need for that to be enough for you right now. I just – I need you to understand. Please. I don’t want to lose you.”

And with that, Niall feels like he can breathe again.

_He doesn’t want to lose me. He needs me._

“Please don’t leave me, okay? I’ll try and understand, Zayn. I promise. Just—please don’t leave,” he hiccups, hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

“I won’t. Never.”

And that’s all Niall needs, at least for now.

Niall knows he’s broken. No matter how much he denies it, he knows he’s broken.

But Zayn’s there, and right now Zayn is his glue. He might not be the strongest, might not be that alright himself, but right now he’s here and he’s holding Niall together and that’s all Niall needs, at least for right now.

\--

Life is a war, and each person is fighting their own battle. Niall has fought more than his fair share of demons, and they _still_ come back to haunt him. When he’s lying in bed at 3am in the morning, thinking and thinking, they crawl back into his mind.

So, he gets it. He understands when Zayn says he can’t tell Niall about his secrets. That they’ll bring more harm than good. That some demons are too dark, too vicious to be unleased on to the world.

When he told Zayn about Donny, it was his choice. He was ready to share that, ready to let Zayn know. Zayn wasn’t ready, not yet. Niall understands, he really does.

It’s been three weeks, three weeks since they slept together, since they _really_ slept together.

Niall’s realized that he doesn’t need it to be anything either. He doesn’t need it to be a name, as long as it’s something. As long at Zayn is there to hold him, there to kiss him, there to stroke his hair when the nightmares come back, as long as Zayn doesn’t leave, he’s okay with it not being anything.

And as they’re are both lying in Zayn’s bed, listening to the scratchy voice of Rod Steward pouring through Zayn’s record player, Niall also realizes something else.  

He feels Zayn’s hand stroking his bare back, his bony knuckles gently caressing his spine. A shiver runs up his neck. Niall takes a deep breath. “I love you,” Niall mumbles into Zayn’s shoulders. It’s only after he says it out loud, exposes it to the Universe that he realizes how much weight those three words really hold.

He feels Zayn go stiff, the soft fingertips no longer on him. Niall’s heart hammers against his rib cage, throat clenching.

Then, Zayn’s arms wrap around his small frame, pulling him closer and Niall lets out a sigh of relief.

The fingers are back, but they are running through his hair. Zayn lets out a deep sigh, “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says hoarsely. He closes his eyes as he rests his cheeks against Zayn’s shoulders.

Nothing mattered. Nothing but the fact that he was hopelessly and desperately in love with Zayn Malik.

\--


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE ******
> 
> I had this chapter done so long ago, but I wrote and re-wrote it like 6 times. I still don't think I'm satisfied, but this update has taken ridiculously long so here you go. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll update soon but y'all know how shitty I am so please love me still if I don't. 
> 
> Also, follow my [ Tumblr! ](http://pointniall.tumblr.com/) <3  
> 

When it all comes down, it comes down like a house of cards. One swift blow, quick and strong, and the very foundation breaks apart.

Niall doesn't even notice it crashing down, not really. He doesn't notice it until it's all over; until he's standing amongst the rubble, blinking away the dust, trying to breathe through the debris.

All it ever takes is one card. One card to tip over, one card to fall out of place, and everything is ruined. And it's kind of pathetic that this card wasn't even that important, that significant.

It's kind of pathetic because all that really happened was that they'd run out of milk.

“Zayn,” Niall whines from behind the fridge door, “we're out of milk.”

“Hmm?” Zayn asks absentmindedly, too absorbed in the novel he's holding.

“Milk. None left,” he repeats with a pout.

“I'll go get some tomorrow. Come over here, I wanna kiss you some,” Zayn says, finally looking up at Niall and smirking over top of his book.

Niall bites his lip, mulling over that enticing offer. “Fuck. No, I really gotta get some. I have that 8:00am class in the morning.”

Zayn closes the book over his index finger, looking at Niall with furrowed brows. “Babe, it's almost midnight.”

“Yes. And I'm a grown man.” Niall usually doesn't push it, but fuck, he can take care of himself. He crosses him arms over his chest so Zayn knows he's not backing down from this.

It not about the milk anymore, not one bit. It's the power struggle. And yeah, it's a little fun. Sometimes Zayn's dominant, tying Niall's hands to the bed posts and making him whimper with desperation. Sometimes Niall's aggressive, biting down on Zayn's collarbone and fucking him roughly bent over a table.

Okay, so maybe it's _a lot_ fun. They thrive on it, lap it right up; makes their relationship pulse with energy.

“Fuck. Okay, come back soon. Like, _really_ soon,” Zayn says, biting his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes at Niall.

And with that look, Niall almost doesn't go. But he also loves knowing that Zayn's going to be waiting for him, cock stiff and mouth ready. Shit, he's already hard.

“Ten minutes.”

\--

It's always convenient when you live right next to a Tesco. But it's extra convenient when you need milk, it's midnight, and you have a naked hot boy waiting for you to come back. This is what Niall is thinking as he hurriedly pays for the damn milk he doesn't really even want anymore and tries to cover his raging hard-on with a jumper.

“Thank you,” he says to the cashier, zipping up his jumper as he steps out into the chilly night.

He's cursing himself for not bringing something warmer when he feels a hard shove. He trips at the sudden contact, hitting his face against a brick wall.

There's someone behind him now, grabbing both his hands behind his back and holding his neck so he can't turn around. He feels their hot breath against his neck and a cold current runs down his spine. He's numb with fear. He can't move, he can't speak; all he can think is _“not again.”_

_Not again not again not again._

“Give me everything you have and I won't beat the shit out of you,” the person snarls beside him.

He feels a weird sense of relief wash over him.

_Mugged_ . He's being _mugged_ . And it's strange because he shouldn't feel calm. But he does. Because he's just being _mugged_ . It's not happening again. He's just being _mugged._

With the blood flowing through his body again, he nods quickly.

“Where's your wallet?”

“I-In my pocket. Jumper p-pocket,” Niall stammers. He feels thick hands being shoved down his jumper, which is when he remembers that his _fucking_ boner hasn't gone down yet.

“What the fuck is that?!” the guy barks behind him, jolting away.

Free from the man's grasp, Niall spins around to find himself staring at his attacker. He's a bulky man with scruff along his thick jaw. His face is beet red, nose flaring. Niall can smell the whisky on his breath, can see how drunk he is from his blood-shot eyes.

“Are you getting off on this? Are you a fucking faggot?”

Niall flinches at the insult, eyes stinging from the hot tears filling them.

“You're fucking disgusting! Perverted fag!” the man spits, his meaty hands wiping away at his mouth. Niall tastes something like rotten eggs in his mouth, his eyes wide as he stares at the man in front of him in horror.

His heart is racing. He doesn't know what to do. Fear floods his body, seizes his every nerve.

The rest happens in a blur.

Niall can't seem to register what's going on. He feels it, the pain. He feels every punch, every kick. But it doesn't feel like he's there. It's like its not even happening to him.

“ _If you ever get jumped, play dead.”_

Harry had told him that once; when Niall had been icing him up after a particularly bad run-in. Harry was one of the first openly gay kid in their neighbourhood, so he always got the worst it. He shouldn't have, but he did.

“ _They'll get scared and run away. Just wait, lie still, wait for them to go away.”_

And so, with his head on the ground, he waits. He waits until the man's panting heavily over him. He waits until the man empties his wallet. He waits until the man walks away, until he can't hear footsteps anymore, until he's the man is gone.

He waits until he gathers up enough energy to push himself off the ground and limp home.

\--

“Zayn?” he calls out weakly as soon as he's inside his flat.

“Babe? What took you so long? That definitely was not ten minutes,” Zayn shouts from inside the bathroom.

“Zayn. Zayn.” he pants, leaning against the door. His head is spinning and he doesn't have any more energy left. His bones feel like lead, so so heavy, and they drag him down to the floor.

“Ni? Niall, what's wrong?” he hears Zayn say..

“Zayn!” he shouts. Except he doesn't. He tries to call out, but he can't find his voice. He can feel his mouth moving, forming the words, but there is no sound. Nothing comes out of his mouth.

He tries to look straight, but his vision keeps going in and out of focus.

“NIALL!” he hears Zayn shout. But it's so far away.

“Why are you so far, Zayn?” he tries to say, but he can't.

Everything is so heavy and he's just so tired. He feels a sort of black numbness take over his brain, clogging his ears first, then covering his mouth, then clouding over his eyes.

Niall's always liked black though. It hides it, protects him. So he gives himself away, away to the numbness, completely enveloping himself in the safety of the dark.

\--

When he first jolts out of the darkness, it's because he hears Zayn calling to him.

“Niall!” He sees just a flicker of Zayn's beautiful hazel eyes, then it's black again.

\--

He's floating now. It's almost like a twilight zone. He's up above in the clouds, soaring. He sees Big Ben and smiles at all the tourists bustling about.

But then he's falling again, fast.

He's falling so so fast and—it's black again. But there are sounds.

Beeps. He hears a lot of beeps.

And then he hears Zayn again. “It's all my fault. It's all my fucking fault,” he's saying.

What? _“What the hell are you talking about, Zayn?”_ Niall says. But he doesn't. And this time his mouth doesn't move either.

“Zayn, calm down. He'll be alright. He'll be _alright._ ” That's Harry. Niall can hear the tremor in his voice, the fright. “Right, Louis?! Niall is going to be alright. Tell him, Louis. TELL HIM!”

Harry's crying now. It's muffled but Niall can hear it.

“ _Haz, don't cry. It's okay.”_

“Why the hell isn't anyone looking after him? Where the fuck is the doctor?” Louis shouts instead of reassuring Harry.

“I'll go find out.” That's Liam. Niall is so so glad for Liam. Liam takes care of everyone, Liam will make everything okay.

“ _Thanks, Liam_ ,” he tries one more time. And he feels his mouth move! He feels it!

But it's too much. It's too much and he's back into the dark.

\--

When Niall finally pries his eyes open, he's hit with a blinding amount of light. He tries to move his head away, but he can't. He pulls and pushes but he just can't _move_.

His eyelids collapse again and he's too tired to try and lift them up.

Someone's talking to him. He hears someone talking to him but if he could just get a little closer---

“...and I am so sorry.” It's Zayn. Niall's hand is in his and he's holding it so tightly that he's afraid if he doesn't, Niall will break apart.  “I am so so sorry. Good bye, Niall.”

Niall feels something press against his lips. It's Zayn. Zayn's kissing him.

“ _I'm like Sleeping Beauty_ ,” he thinks happily as he drifts away to the blackness again.

\--

His eyes flutter open this time. It doesn't feel like they're glued down, he doesn't have to fight them.

But it's still fucking bright.

“Ugh,” he hears himself groan.

“Niall?!” he hears Harry shout.

“Shh,” he grumbles, turning his head away from the harsh rays of the fluorescent light bulbs. Blinking a few more times, he lets his eyes adjust to the light.

When he's finally able to open his eyes fully, he turns his head to find a pair of bright green eyes staring back at him.

“Niall!” Harry shouts, a huge grin splitting across his face.

His face hurts a little, but Niall can't help but smile back. “Hey, Haz.” His voice is gravely, his throat aching.

“Shh. Don't say anything. I'm going to get Lou, Liam and the Doc. Just shut up for like two minutes, okay?”

Niall's about to ask where Zayn is but Harry gives him a threatening look, so he just nods.

Ten minutes later, the doctor is shining a flashlight in Niall's eyes.

“How are you feeling, Niall?” she asks, smiling warmly at him.

“Alright, I think. My face hurts a little and my body still aches but I think I'll live,” he answers, attempting another smile.

“You know what? I think you will, too,” she laughs, winking at him. “Well, all your tests have come out normal. No internal bleeding, which is great. You have a black eye, a cut lip and some nasty bruises all over your body, but nothing's broken.”

She flips through a few more pages in his file, writing a few things down, and then places it back on the table beside him.

“You can go home today, but just make sure to get a lot of rest. And don't do anything too physically demanding for the next couple weeks, so tell you friends to lay off the football,” she tells him, glancing over at three boys watching her with wide eyes and attentive ears. “Good lot you got there.”

And Niall smiles because yeah, they are a good lot.

After the rest of the boys thank the doctor and bid her farewell, they all crowd around Niall's tiny little hospital bed, each sporting their own individual shit-eating grins.

“You gave us a right fucking fright, prick!” Harry accuses, his words absolutely clashing with the expression on his face.

“Why the were you out at _midnight_  in literally like the  _crummiest_ place in London?!” Liam sputters at him. 

Niall laughs at the memory of how this entire thing started. “We ran out of milk,” he tries to explain.

“And why did you so _desperately_ need milk at 12am in the fucking morning?” Louis chimes in, huffing. 

Niall chuckles even harder, praying to God he's not blushing. “Zayn and I have this thing...just don't worry about it. Where is he anyway?”

All of their grins drop at once.

“Uh-eh-who?” Liam stammers, cheeks flaming.

“Zayn. Where is Zayn?” Niall asks again. His eyes slide over each of his friend's faces. Harry is biting his lip, Louis is looking down at the floor and Liam is looking straight at Niall with a such forced smile that it pains Niall just to  _look_ at it. 

He starts to panic a little.

“Harry.” he says, looking directly into his bottle-green eyes, “Harry, where is Zayn?”

Harry's gaze drops to the floor, his fingers twisting into the bottom of his sweater.

“He's gone, Niall. Zayn's gone.”

\--

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM. If you still want to read the chapter but avoid the triggering parts, let me know and I'll write it up for you so you don't have to read it
> 
> A bit of a longer one for y'all! Sorry I'm such an awful person for not updating as frequently, but uni's a bitch specially with the degree I'm going for. Thanks and love you all! Enjoy. . xx
> 
> \- B

He can feel the walls closing in again. There is a low hum in his ears, heat prickling down his neck.

“Gone? What do you mean gone? Did he go home?”

He looks around the room at his friends. They all stand there just staring at the floor, none of them uttering a single word.

But Harry's eyes have said it all. They've said it, but Niall doesn't want to believe it. He refuses to. This can't be happening to him. Zayn said he'd never leave. He'd _promised._

It's a while before anyone says anything. Niall's just sits on the crisp white bed, gaping at his friends, daring one of them to man up and just fucking tell him.

It's Liam. It's always fucking Liam. “He's gone, Niall. I don't know where or when. We all fell asleep here and--and in the morning he was gone. Lou went to go check the flat, see if he was alright, but all of his stuff was just gone. I'm so sorry, Ni. You don't deserve this. I'm so sorry.”

And that’s when the walls collapse entirely, crashing all around him, burying him underneath. He's suffocating, he can't breathe. Dust fills up his nose, his eyes, his throat. His heart contorts, like someone is holding it in their palms and squeezing it.

The machines around him beep like crazy.

“Niall? Niall?!” Harry shouts, eyes filling with panic. “Someone go get the fucking doctor!”

He feels the darkness again, creeping throughout this body, plaguing his mind. But he doesn't fight it this time, he doesn’t want to. Because right now the darkness offers him something that the light doesn't; the darkness offers him an escape from his pain.

\--

“Niall, it's been three days! Please, let me in.” It's Harry again, pounding at his door like he's trying to break it down. He probably is.

Niall hears it, Harry calling to him again.

He hears the sounds; the banging on the door, Louis' hysterical abuses. He hears Liam trying to talk to him calmly, he hears Harry sobbing by the door. He hears all of it.

But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because soon enough they'll leave too. Just like his parents, just like Donny, just like Zayn.

He doesn't even remember how to feel sad anymore, how to cry. All he can remember is how to feel is numb. All he wants to feel is numb.

Because as soon as he tries to feel anything else, as soon as he tries to get up and walk to door to let Harry in, he's hit with a surge of pain. Of pain and fury and anguish.

And he's so exhausted. Exhausted of the crying and the hurting and the fucking heartache. He really just wants to feel something else. _Anything_ else.

It's been a while. He's been good for almost a year and a half. But he feels it. He feels the itch under his wrist, the craving in his veins. He needs to feel something else.

Niall gingerly tosses aside his covers, feeling drained even just by this little of a movement. He steps over to his closet, the hunger of not having eaten for three days gnawing away at his stomach, filling his vision with stars. The closet door creaks open slowly and Niall hears the blood pounding in his ears.

The box is still there, shining at him as the sunlight peaks in through the closed curtains and bounces off of its metal surface. He lifts his arms up using all his effort, grabbing the small container tucked away in the corner of his closet.

Niall can hear the clang of the metal on metal and it brings a wry smile to his face.

He walks over to his bed with the box, swaying from the lack of energy, and collapses on it. He runs his fingers over the clasp, feeling the coldness of the metal against his skin.

He finally undoes the clasp, lifting the lid in anticipation of being greeted by his old friends.

And he finds old friends. But not the one who he'd been lusting for, not the ones with the sharp edges.

Instead, he finds a picture. It's a picture of him, Harry, Louis, Liam standing in front of Thrope Park, all of them grinning brightly at the camera.

He picks up the picture, turning it over.

_June 14 th, 2013. Took Niall out to celebrate his first month of being clean. He's been so happy. The cute boy with the brown puppy-dog eyes might have something to do with it, but I'm not complaining. xx_

Harry wrote it, of course he did. Niall remembers him writing on the back of photos ever since he was twelve.

“Sure, you have a picture. But wouldn't it be better if there were words to go along with it? If you knew how you were feeling exactly at the moment the picture was taken? It's like a diary, but better.”

Niall smiles at the memory, at Harry. He smiles at the picture, at the group of friends who are shining so bright, standing so tall.

And he feels it. A twinge. A small current. A tiny wave of happiness flooding his heart.

There's a white folded piece of paper underneath the photo. He unfolds it, trying to smooth down the creases. It's Harry's messy scrawl again.

 

 

> _Hey Niall,_
> 
> _I see you've come back to get the support of your “friends” again. Well, here you go. It's here. All the support you will ever need. All the support, plus all the love, minus any of the pain. I'm a bit shit at Maths but I think that's a pretty good deal, don't you? I don't know what drove you to this, but I want you to know that nothing is worth it. Nothing is worth hurting yourself.  Ever. And if it's because you want to feel something else, like you want to feel anything else but    what you're feeling right now, then knock on my door. I'll make you laugh till you piss your pants, till you're feeling nothing but glee. That's my promise. I'm always here, Ni. I will_ never _leave._
> 
> _Lots of hugs,_
> 
> _H. xx_

Harry won’t leave. Harry never does.

“Harry?” he calls out. His voice is raw, gravely. He needs some water.

The pounding subdues. “Niall?” Harry sounds hesitant, not sure if he actually heard something.

“Harry.” Niall says, purposefully this time. He's sure, certain.

He stalks over to the door and unlatches the lock. He knows he looks disgusting, probably smells even worse, but Harry won't care.

And Niall's right. Because as soon as he swings open the door, he gets an armful of limbs and a mouth full of curly hair.

He hugs back, his arms limp. He doesn't have enough energy.

“I'm hungry,” he mumbles against Harry's hair. Harry nods frantically.

“I'll make you pasta.”

\--

Niall's cleans off two full bowls of pasta before he starts to feel a little better.

Harry's looking at him, smiling nervously and biting at his nail buds. This tells Niall that he's really worried. He doesn't miss the dark circles under Harry's eyes either. Guilt pierces Niall's gut like an arrow, the guilt of putting Harry through something like this all over again.

“More?” Harry asks, already reaching for Niall's plate.

Niall nods back, the small smile on his lips showing gratitude. He'll let Harry take care of him. He understands that it will make him feel better. And he needs it. He needs Harry.

It's only when Harry's back is to him, scooping more pasta onto his plate, when Niall doesn't have to look him straight in the eye, that he says what he really wants to.

“I found the picture.”

Harry stops moving for a second and Niall holds his breath. But then he's moving about again, preparing the plate. He doesn't say anything for a while and Niall just stares ahead, waiting.

When he brings the plate back to Niall, he can see Harry's eyes are a little red-rimmed.

“I'd forgotten about that,” he finally says, sitting on the chair next to Niall. “It's been so long.”

Niall nods back, a small lump forming in the back of his throat.

“How'd you know about the box?” Niall asks, simply out of curiosity.

Harry looks at him, his green eyes looking duller than usual and Niall feels another pang of guilt shoot through his stomach.

“I don't even remember. I was looking for something, a sweater I think. It fell open right in front of me,” he shrugs, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you mad at me?”

His eyes glisten at Niall, concern etched into the very pupils.

“No,” he tells Harry. And he wasn't.

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking at Harry square in the eye. He means it, so _so_ much. And he can't hold back the tears anymore. He drops his head in his hands, sobbing, gasping for air.

Harry's at his side in moments, wiping away at his tears as they fall thickly onto the carpet, staining them darker.

“It still hurts, Haz. I still hurt so bad,” Niall admits, clutching onto Harry's shirt, head buried in his shoulders.

“Of course it does, Ni.” Harry accepts, stroking his hair. “Zayn broke your heart. But that doesn't mean you have to keep smashing it into smaller pieces. Because yeah, he broke it. But you have people who will help put it back together, who will find each scattered piece and glue it so it's whole again.”

 

“I thought this was it, Harry. I thought Zayn was it,” he blubbers, seemingly unable to halt the tears that keep pouring out of him.

“I know you did, babe, I know. Just give it time, everything will be okay. You'll be okay,” Harry consoles, cooing softly into Niall's ear.

They stay like that for a while, Niall buried into Harry's chest and Harry softly stroking his hair. He cries a lot, soaking Harry's sweater. His heart feels like it is filled with acid and he needs to cry it all out for the pain to stop.

Niall doesn't say anything, just listens to Harry as he tells him it's going to be alright. That it will take some time, that the pain will subdue, that it will get easier to deal with.

And even though it feels like Zayn tore out his heart straight from its cavity and left a gaping wound in its place, Niall still believes him.

\--

Our minds are treacherous things, aren't they? Conniving, clever, conspiring little demons. And you know what they're the best at? Manipulating our hearts.

Those poor souls don't even see it coming. Pumping blood habitually, falling in love blindly. They get attached too quick, is the issue.

But it's no problem, because we've got our brains. They know how to deal with the heart's impulses, with its irrationalities.

They know how to trick the heart into thinking that it's alright, that it's missing nothing, that it's not in love.

And Niall figures that's what happens. His brain tricks his heart into thinking he doesn't miss Zayn as much, doesn't still love him as much.

Harry had told him, told him that it would get easier. And it did, eventually.

The first couple weeks were taskingly difficult. Niall relapsed almost every day. Everything reminded him of Zayn, of what they had, of how happy he _was_. But every time he got dizzy with misery, every time he felt weak with torment, his friends were there to hold him upright.

When they passed by Zayn’s favourite kebab place and Niall fell to his knees crippled by the tortuous pain of nostalgia, Harry was right beside him, helping him up and dusting off his trousers.

Like the time he found Zayn’s tattered copy of _Deadpool_ underneath the couch and spent almost two hours on the floor trying to cry out the pain in his heart; Louis had pulled him off the floor and then handed him matches to set the comic on fire.

And then some days he didn’t have to see anything or find anything. Some days he woke up to an excruciating feeling of longing and loss, too emotionally exhausted to get out of bed. And on these days, Liam brought him chicken noodle soup, spending the day watching football on the tele with him.

So, yeah, it was messy. It was messy and bitter and very _very_ frightening, but now it isn’t so bad. There's still a dull ache in his chest that never seems to go away. But the agonizing pangs through his heart, those only come when he finds one of Zayn's t-shirts in his closet or when _Batman_ comes on The Movie Channel.

Sometimes he goes an entire day without thinking about Zayn, but as he returns to his empty flat, the thoughts of the raven-haired boy are inevitable. But he's still proud about the day, about keeping distracted, so he calls Harry anyway to tell him.

Two weeks turn into a month, one month turns into two and soon it's been four months since Niall's looked into a pair of soulful hazel eyes.

And maybe that's why his friends come up with a decision.

“So, we've decided,” Louis announces one day as they are all crowed around his TV playing Fifa. He doesn't say this to anyone particular, or explain the parameters of “we”, so Niall looks around dumbfounded.

Harry and Liam are both looking at him with the exact same expression; round eyes and small smiles.

Well, this doesn't look good. He lets out a sigh.

“Okay so who's 'we' and what have they decided?” Niall asks, pausing the game so he can deal with the conversation.

“Liam, Harry and _I_ have decided that you are certainly going on the date,” Louis declares, ending his sentence with just one firm nod.

Niall's smirks a little, quirking his eyebrow. “Fantastic. Glad you've made that decision on my behalf. Just one tiny technicality though…I haven’t been asked out in about an eternity.”

Rolling his eyes, he unfreezes the screen fully prepared kick Louis' ass, but it’s paused again. He hears Liam take in a sharp breath behind him.

“What if we told you that you have been asked on a date?” Louis asks, grinning wildly at him.

Niall looks around at his friends, irritation blatant on his face. “By who?”

Liam offers him a sweet smile, his chocolate brown eyes lighting up with excitement “He's a friend of mine. Big on music, like you. His name is Josh.”

“And he's also very _very_ attractive,” Louis adds with a wink.

Something heavy settles in the pit stomach. The idea makes him a little uncomfortable, unsure if he actually even _wants_ to date anyone again. 

Niall looks at Harry, who's grinning encouragingly at him. His green eyes flicker with expectancy and desperation, anxiously waiting for Niall's answer.

He knows they are worried, hears the hushed conversations when they think he's fallen asleep.

It _sucks_ , it really does. He doesn’t want them to worry, doesn’t need them to worry.

He’s fine, for the most part. The hole is in his heart is still there but he’s covered it, thrown it under a make shift tarp. It’s still hollow, empty, but it’s not vulnerable. He’s not vulnerable. Not anymore.

But then his blue eyes rake over his friends’ unsure faces and hopeful eyes, and he knows that he needs to do this. Not for himself, but for them.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re looking at me for. Thought you said you lot had already made the decision.”

And from the grin that splits across all three faces, he knows he did the right thing.

\--

It’s a bit slow. And awkward.

“So, uhm, Liam tells me you like music?” Josh asks, twirling his straw around a glass of Pepsi. He looks up at Niall through his lashes, almost timidly.

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” he replies, bluntly. He’s not trying to be rude, at least not on purpose.

 The bloke _, Josh,_ seems alright. He’s attractive, that’s for sure. But his hair is a little lighter than Niall prefers and his build a little too stocky. Also, he’s not Zayn.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Josh blurts out, eyes widening.

Niall’s taken aback at first, but his shock is quickly overtaken by annoyance.

He sighs. “Look, Josh, you really don’t have to pretend. Just because my friends have their heads shoved too far up their arses to notice that I’m actually _fine_ , shouldn’t mean either of us has to suffer through this ‘date’” he says, signaling quotation marks around ‘date’ with his fingers.

Now it’s Josh that looks taken aback. His eyes fall to the table and he bites his bottom lip. “Suffer?”

His voice is so small, he sounds so _genuinely_ hurt that Niall almost believes him.

“Yeah…I get what this is. I mean how convenient is it that one of Liam’s friends, one I’ve never heard of before, suddenly wants to take me out on a date _just_ as I’ve gotten over my last relationship? Look it’s fine, I won’t say anything if you don’t. What are they bribing with, anyway? Concert tickets?” he smiles at Josh, trying to muster up a friendly demeanor so they can at least work their way through dinner. He’s starved.

Josh gapes back, face drained of any colour whatsoever.

Niall quirks an eyebrow at him, waving a hand in front of Josh’s face. “Josh?”

And suddenly, the colour is back on his face. But instead of stopping at a healthy shade, his cheeks flame to a bright red.

“I—uhm. They’re not bribing me,” is all he says. His eyes fall to the glass in front of him and stay there.

Niall scrunches his eyebrows together. “Do you owe Liam a favour or something?”

Josh’s eyes shoot up and Niall catches a flash of desperation in them. “No. I asked you out because I _wanted_ to take you out.”

Niall glares at him. “That doesn’t make sense though. We’ve never even met before, why would you want to take out a complete stranger?”

Josh face softens and a small smile settles on his lips. “You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?” Niall asks him.

“We were in Classics together. You sat a few rows down from me.”

Niall chews on his straw, trying to remember back to his Classics class. He looks back at Josh, who’s watching him with an amused expression. “I’m sorry, I really don’t remember,” he admits.

Josh shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s okay. You seemed very, uhm, pre-occupied during class.”

Niall nods. It was the point in his life when he was always pre-occupied, his mind filled with thoughts of Zayn and only Zayn.

“I sort of caught on that you hung out with Liam, and we were mates from track so I asked him about you,” Josh continues, trying to both look at Niall and avoid his gaze. “But he said you were seeing someone, so I left it at that. Then a couple weeks ago, we’re at a meet together when he randomly asked me if I was still interested in taking you out. And I guess that brings us to now, then.”

Niall can feel his face heating up, a pink flush more than apparent on his cheeks. “Oh.”

Josh purses his lips together and shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought this was another of their elaborate plans to help me get over my ex,” Niall confesses, feeling very guilty. Josh seemed like an alright lad, he didn’t mean to embarrass him.

Josh’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you said you were already over him?” he points out.

“No—I mean yeah—yeah, I _am_ over him but they don’t want to believe it,” Niall stammers as an explanation.

Josh smiles, his chocolate brown eyes finally meeting Niall’s. “You know what’s a really good way to prove to them that you’re over him?”

Niall leans in, intrigued by the almost mischievous glint in Josh’s eyes. “What?”

“By dating me,” Josh finishes, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Niall shakes his head, chuckling. “You want see me again after this disaster of a date?”

“I wouldn’t call it a disaster,” Josh says.

“No?” Niall humours, well aware that he is very much flirting.

“We haven’t even ordered yet. Hell, the date’s barely begun,” he confirms.

“Thank god. I thought we were going to have to leave without eating. I’m starved,” Niall groans, smiling widely at Josh.

Josh winks back at him. “Allow me,” he says, waving to a waiter nearby.

\--

As Niall walks back to his flat, he realizes that the date was actually….nice. Josh was sweet, and they had a lot in common.

Talking to him was like talking to Harry, almost. It was comfortable, content.

Sure, Josh didn’t ignite his veins with desperate and fiery _want_ , but Niall wasn’t sure he was ready for something like that again. They were still charred crisp by the memories of Zayn, too depleted light up again. Maybe they would never be ready, maybe they had been permanently scorched.

He sees Josh again, and it’s still nice, so he keeps seeing him. His friends seem more relieved, not so invested in him anymore that that’s nice too. So he doesn’t stop.

The first time Josh leans in for a kiss, they are outside Niall’s flat just having walked back from dinner. Josh’s lips are pretty soft and it feels good to be held again, to be wanted, so he lets it happen. It’s not marvellous, but it’s not awkward; it’s…pleasant. He doesn’t pull Josh into the flat, doesn’t scratch at his clothes pathetically, and they just leave it at the kiss.

Josh easily fits into his life, with his friends.

He asks Niall to be his boyfriend two months after their first date and Niall says yes because he doesn’t have a reason to say no. Josh is good for him, convenient. It’s nice just to feel secure, to not always feel as if he’s on an edge and about to fall off any minute.

It’s a lot different from what he had with Zayn; not as intense, not as frantic.  

It was like if Zayn was a rollercoaster, then Josh is a sail boat.

There is no fear, no twists, no screaming. And yeah the excitement and the rush isn’t there either, but the serenity is.

He loves rollercoasters but they only last for a couple minutes. And sailboats are good because Niall’s always liked the ocean; the gentle rocking of the boat, the soft sounds of the waves lapping at the rocks as they lull him to sleep. He can spend hours in one.

His friends tell him it’s good, that Josh is good, and his mind tells him it’s good too, so he believes it. His heart believes it.

“So you’re coming right?” Josh asks, suddenly breaking Niall out of his trance. Niall’s blue eyes turn to him, wide and confused.

“What?”

“My band? It’s out first gig, remember?” Josh reminds him, pushing himself off the floor we’re they’re both lying and wipes his hands on his thighs. 

“Yeah, of course!” Niall nods, flashing a quick smile at his boyfriend. “You nervous?”

“I’m sweating my balls off,” Josh admits, cheeks flushed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You’ll do great. You’re fantastic.” Niall encourages

“It would be better if you were in front of me, playing,” Josh sighs, plopping down on the couch with his lips between his teeth.

“Hey that’s on you. You were supposed to sabotage the other guitarist so I could take his spot!” Niall accuses, winking.

But that’s wasn’t true. He had had the chance, Josh had even gotten him an audition, but he didn’t go.

Niall hadn’t picked up his guitar in months, all the tunes he strummed out sounding flat. There was no emotion attached to the melodies, no feeling. It felt like he was just plucking some strings on a piece of wood, no desire attached to it anymore. He really did miss it, the beautiful sounds he could create just by moving his fingers around. He loved the beauty of it, the vigour it filled his soul with.

Josh lets out a low chuckle, cutting through Niall’s thoughts a second time.

“I don’t know,” Josh tells him, shaking his head. “I’m just not the evil mastermind you are.”

“Maybe not an evil mastermind, but you sure are _naughty_ ,” Niall teases. He bites his bottom lip slightly, narrowing his eyes at Josh. He was itching to get off, quite the common state of being for a horny 21-year-old.

Josh smirks as a response, not missing the hint of anarchy in Niall’s tone. He leans down to press soft kiss into Niall’s lips and Niall hum happily.

Pushing back against Josh’s lips, he climbs on to his lap straddling him, knees on either side of the brunette boy.

The kiss starts to heat up as Josh furiously licks into Niall’s mouth, tugging at his shirt. Niall chuckles low against his lips, pulling the shirt over his head himself to try and hurry along the process. Josh’s eyes darken at the sight of the shirtless boy on top of him and Niall smiles smugly, licking his lips.

Josh’s lips are on his neck, nipping and sucking gently.

Niall’s opens his mouth to tell him not to leave any hickies, to leave his skin unmarked—when there’s a knock at the door.

“Fuck,” Niall curses, his cock already semi-hard.

“Just leave it, it’s probably Louis asking for some sugar,” Josh mumbles against his neck.

And Niall agrees, going back to working on Josh’s zipper; but the knocks don’t subdue.

“Shit. Okay just let me tell whoever it is to fuck off and then we can get back to this,” he sighs, climbing off of Josh’s lap and grabbing his shirt off the floor.

He pulls his shirt over his head, shooting Josh an apologetic smile as he’s unlatching the lock on the door.

 Swinging the door open, he finds himself faced not with Louis incredulous grin, but rather the timid smile of a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair and an oddly familiar face. He stares at her, racking through his brain to try and remember where he knows her from, but he comes up blank.

“Hi,” the woman breathes out, still smiling unsurely at him.

“Hello,” he greets.

Her eyes flicker behind him for a moment, almost as she’s looking for something inside the apartment.

“Are you Niall Horan?” she asks softly, eyes glinting with a strange sense of anxiety.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you, ma’am?” he offers, smiling politely at her.

“Hi, I’m Trisha Malik,” she introduces. “I’m Zayn’s mum.”  

\--

The prickles start at his hand, quickly making their way up his spine and to the back of his neck. His mind is racing with a million thoughts as he stares at this woman, finally recognizing her as the woman in one of the photos in Zayn’s room. Zayn had never told him that it was his mum; but then again, Niall had never asked.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, just staring at this woman at his doorway. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. His mouth is dry and his eyes burn with the tears that he’s trying _so_ hard to stop.

Then suddenly, he feels a hand on the small of his back and Josh is beside him.

“Hi there. I’m Josh,” he says, nodding at Trisha and offering her a smile back.

Trisha’s eyes slide from Niall’s stricken face to Josh’s. “Hi, I’m Trisha. I’m Zayn’s mum.”

Josh’s eyes flit to Niall briefly at the mention of Zayn’s name and his hand slips down to Niall’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Is—is he here?” she asks suddenly, her eyes scanning the flat for a second time.

Niall’s brows knit together. “Here?”

Trisha’s eyes bore into him, like she’s almost irritated. “Yes. Is he here?” There is a tone of desperation to her voice, like she’s trying her very best to hold back tears.

 “No,” he answers lamely. Trisha purses her lips, blinking faster than Niall’s ever seen anyone blink.             

“Have you seen him lately? Has he contacted you?” she presses on, anxiety more than blatant on her face now.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen Zayn in over six months,” he tells her.

And with these words, he watches as Trisha completely deflates before him, the anxiety in her face fading into complete exhaustion. He notices the heavy bags under her eyes, how bloodshot the whites surrounding her pupils are.

“Is—is everything alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

Trisha blinks at him, like she’d just realized he’s standing in front of her. “Oh. I—uhm—Zayn’s missing.”

 The air is sucked out of Niall’s lungs and his heart pounds ferociously against his chest. His hands feel numb.

“Missing?” he gasps.

Trisha’s face crumples, the tears she’d been holding back trickling from her eyes. “I just—he kept bringing you up, you know. So I thought, I _prayed_ that he was here,” she explains between sobs.

Niall nods at her, hearing everything but not understanding anything. His brain is full of static, like a blank channel on the tele.

“I’m so sorry, but we haven’t heard from him.” Niall hears Josh respond on his behalf.

She nods at them, her tears smudging the makeup around her eyes. “If you do, please, will you let me know? I’ll write down my number…”

Josh takes her number in his cellphone as Trisha recites for him, and all this time Niall is still frozen at the doorway.

 _Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn_. That’s all he can think of, all he can make sense of.

It’s as she’s turning around to leave that Niall finally finds his voice.

“I’m coming with you,” he decides aloud. He doesn’t know how he comes to this decision, how he’s even going to help, but there’s just one thought in his mind right now and it’s _that needs to see Zayn again_.

She turns around sharply, her face stricken with surprise. “You’re coming with me?”

He nods, reaching behind the door to grab his coat. “I’m coming with you to look for him.”

“What? What about my gig?” Josh sputters at him.

Niall had almost forgotten he was there. He turns to face him, blinking. “Josh, Zayn is _missing_. I’m pretty sure that’s a tad bit more important that your show.”

Josh looks at him in bewilderment. “I thought you said you were done with him? He left you Niall, abandoned you. Why do you want to go back to him now?”

“Because I love him.” It comes out in one breath, spilling out of his mouth before he even knows it’s happening.

And that’s when the dam breaks, when all the emotions and feelings he’d locked away deep inside his heart come flooding back. When the desperate, agonizing love he has for Zayn courses throughout his veins again. It’s like his heart is finally free, finally breathing.

“But we’re good Niall, we’re so good,” Josh pleads, his eyes filling up. His hands are gripping Niall’s tightly, unwilling to let go.

And Niall feels horrid, monstrous, cruel for doing this to him, but he just can’t pretend anymore.

“No, Josh. _You_ are good, Josh. You are _so so_ good. And I love you, I really do, but not in the way you want me to. I tried, I really really tried to love you that way and I thought it worked too. I thought it worked but today, with all this, it made me realize that it didn’t. Zayn’s it for me--he's just it. I’m so sorry,” Niall chokes, his voice breaking with every sentence.

His heart breaks for Josh, for their friendship, but it’s Zayn. It’s always been Zayn.

So yeah, our minds may be conniving and clever and quick. But our heart are pure, full of raw emotion. It is still the heart that pumps blood through our veins, the one we hear thudding in the dead of the night, the one we can feel pounding just underneath our fingertips.

And though the mind may control, it is the heart that has the real power. Because even through the brain flows blood pumped out by the heart. And the blood pumped out by the heart always carries remnants of the one residing in it.

And for Niall, that will _always_ be Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we actually find out things about Zayn, so stick around. ;)
> 
> Leave comments, I love them OH SO MUCH. Thanks for reading! xx
> 
> -B (follow me on [Tumblr](http://pointniall.tumblr.com/) maybe?)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF EXPLANATIONS. For Zayn, not for me*. 
> 
> LOVE YOU, LEAVES COMMENTS/THOUGHTS/OPTIONS/CRITICISMS-- b <3
> 
>  
> 
> *I actually had some really good excuses (i.e: went to Europe, had midterms, narry fic exchange) but I'm not going to bother you with them because y'all know I suck anyway. Genius doesn't happen overnight, mkay? (I'm totally joking, 100%. My head is not _that_ large)

It’s when they are outside the building that they realize neither one of them has any idea where to go. It’s cold, the November wind chill slapping them on the face as they stand on the sidewalk.

“Do you want to go into a coffee shop, maybe? Get some tea and, uhm, brainstorm?” Niall suggests, shivering underneath his light jacket

Trisha’s teeth chatter as well, her tiny frame covered with only a thin overcoat. “Yeah, that would be good.”

He leads her into a near-by coffee shop, a local one. Trisha’s nose is turning almost bright red from the cold and she shoots a look of gratitude towards Niall as he holds open to the door to the café for her.

He sits her down at a table near the window and goes to the counter to grab drinks from both of them.

The barista has to ask him to repeat his order three times because he doesn’t make any sense. His mind is swimming with too many thoughts, too many questions to be able to pay attention.

Making his way back to Trisha, he’s trying to think of what exactly to say to her.

He sits down facing her, sliding over the steaming mug.

“Thank you.”

He nods, acknowledging her gratitude. They both stare at each other for a little while, not knowing what to say. Niall is thinking about retorting to the ever-so-safe topic of weather when Trisha finally starts speaking.

“Did you say you were in love with my son?” she asks, abruptly. Maybe she hadn’t meant to say it out loud because she looks just as surprised about the question as Niall. 

He can feel the heat on his cheeks. “Erm—I...”

Sensing his discomfort, she offers him a warm smile. “It’s okay, Zayn’s liked boys for as long as I can remember.”

Something twists in his stomach. “It’s...complicated. But, yes I do love him.” he resigns with a sigh.  

It’s not a straight answer, but that all he can give right now. Trisha seems to understand though because she doesn’t push anymore.

“He used to talk a lot about you,” she tells him instead.

Niall has to resist the urge to laugh spitefully. Instead, he goes for the clichéd, “All good things I hope.”

“Always.”

They sip their drink, embracing the silence for a little while.

This time it’s Niall who breaks it. “What did you mean by he’s missing?”

Trisha looks up from her mug. “Well, he just kind of…left. I mean he leaves all the time, but this time it was different. Usually, we hear from him right away because he knows we get worried. But it’s been almost a week now and neither the girls nor I have heard from him. It just—things just don’t add up...” she explains. There is a glisten in her eyes and her voice is quivering.

He’s angry, so angry at Zayn. How dare he keep putting people who love him through this? Where does he get off hurting the people that care about him? He looks at Trisha, her kind eyes that are drooped with exhaustion and worry. He wants to wrap his arms around her, comfort her. But that may be too much, too sudden.

Instead, he places his hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze.

“I’m sure he’s alright. Plus, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. When he left here, he didn’t say anything to anyone either. Just disappeared with all his stuff.” He shrugs, a lump forming in his throat at the memory.

Trisha looks at him with a puzzled expression. “Yeah, but Zayn left here because he didn’t want you to get any more hurt then you’d already been—he was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? From what?! He just didn’t feel the same way about me and was too much of a coward to say it to my face. He was trying to protect himself from dealing with me, is what it was,” he scoffs at her.

“What? What are you talking about? Zayn _loved_ you,” she pushes, eyes wide and horror-stricken.

“Loved me? I’m sorry Trisha, you’ve got it completely wrong. He left because he _didn’t_ love me.” His chest is contorting now, eyes burning from tears that are flooding them.

Trisha shakes her head at him rapidly, like she doesn’t believe what’s going on. “No—no. You were in the hospital, you got hurt. He didn’t want you to get hurt anymore. He wanted to protect you!”

Niall just gapes at her. “And how does Zayn leaving me protect me from muggers?”

Trisha stares back at him, blinking just once. “Muggers?”

“Yes, I was mugged. I was in the hospital because the guy, uhm, shoved me around a little bit,” he tells her.

Strangely, it’s a look of realization that dawns on Trisha’s face. Her heads drops into her hands and she lets out a sigh “Of course.”

When she looks back up at him, her eyes are sad. Not scared or anxious anymore, just sad. “I told him to go a therapist, even set up appointments but he just didn’t go. I don’t know what to do anymore, Niall. I feel like I’ve failed him as his mother, that I can’t even take care of my own boy.”

“Therapist? For what?” Niall presses, the conversation confusing him with each passing minute.

Trisha tilts her head, her eyes boring into his own as if she’s trying to look past them and read his thoughts. “Oh my god, you don’t know, do you?”

Niall purses his lips. “Know about what?”

She doesn’t answer him, instead asking another question. “Did you never wonder why he’d just disappear? Did you never ask him about it?” Her look is almost accusing.

“Ask him? How would I do that? He didn’t leave _anything_ for me to go on!” Niall retorts.

“But what about when he came back? You could’ve talked to him then,” she says.

Niall’s head is spinning. “Trisha, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. Zayn left and he never came back here, I told you that.”

His tone is a little harsh, ruder than it needed to be, but he can’t help it. With all these emotions flooding back, the only one he can make sense of right now is anger.

Her eyes fall to her hands, her forehead scrunched together as if she’s trying to figure out something. Finally, she asks “How long did Zayn stay in your flat, Niall?”

He grows more frustrated by each passing second, failing to see how this was going to help the situation. “About a year I think,” he answers in haste.

Trisha’s eyebrows shoot up. “He stayed with you an entire year and he never left?”                                           

Niall sputters at her. “He _did_ leave, six months ago. Trisha, is everything—“

But he’s cut off.

“That was the only time he left?” she asks again.

He nods at her.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, and he waits for her because he doesn’t know what else to do. Then, Trisha does something that Niall definitely doesn’t expect. She starts chuckling.

“Trisha?” he calls hesitantly, revaluating this entire idea of tagging along.

Her eyes finally meet Niall’s and instead of anxiety or fear or sadness, they reflect a sense of glee. Of pride. Of hope.

She brings her hands up to the table between them and places them right on top of Niall’s. “You were so good for him. So good,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears.

And Niall smiles back, her warm hands spreading a sense of care and relief over him. He is still unsure, confounded, but Trisha makes him miss Anne, miss her affection.

“I want to tell you a story,” Trisha tells him, her hands still on his.

He nods to let her know that it’s okay.

“It’s about Zayn.”

His heart starts to speed up just a bit as his eyes flick to Trisha. She’s still looking towards him, hands amid his, but she’s not looking at him anymore.

“Zayn’s father died when Zayn was 13. Cancer,” she starts.  

He doesn’t say anything back. He knows what loss feels like, how empty condolences can feel. After you’ve come to terms with the loss, condolences end up being more taunting than consoling, like they are trying to drudge up old feelings.  He doesn’t say anything back because he knows that it’s better that saying anything at all.

“We had known for a while before. Some people say it’s better that way, you know? That you have time to ‘prepare’ yourself or some bullshit, but the truth is you can never prepare for something like that. In some ways I think it’s worse because you have to deal with it twice. First when you find out it’s going to happen, and then when it actually does. It’s like they die twice.” She’s choking a little, Niall can tell.

He gives Trisha’s hand a light squeeze. “My parents died when I was 11.” He wants her to know that he understands, that he shares in her grief.

Trisha meets his eyes, smiling an apologetic smile. “Yes, Zayn told me.”

They look at each other for a bit, acknowledging each other’s pain.

Then, with a sigh and a little shake of her head, she continues. “Yaser was a great father. He was close with all the kids, but I think Zayn was his favourite. They were really alike, you know? Did everything together. His death—it hit Zayn really hard; it broke him. But Zayn, strong little Zayn just like this father, he didn’t let anyone else see his pain.”

Niall’s heart twists, a guilty feeling flooding his stomach for not knowing that. Zayn had never even told him about his father, let alone how much it had affected him. He’d bring up his sisters here and there, but even then he was never intentionally telling Niall about them. They would just come up in a stories, as passing characters.

“It was a difficult time. Every time I was home, I was reminded of Yaser. So I threw myself into work, thinking that if I bagged this next client or got the next promotion, things would get better. I didn’t even need to. I already had a great job and Yaser, he left us in a good place. At the time I convinced myself it was for the girls, for Zayn. So that they could buy whatever they want and maybe it would make them happier. But the truth was, it hurt too much to be around my own family. That’s awful to say, even worse to admit, but it—it’s the bitter truth. Oh god.” She stops, tears pooling up in the corners of her eyes.

Niall gives her a reassuring smile. “Everyone deals with loss in their own way,” he says, trying to comfort her.

But Trisha just shakes her head at him. “I abandoned my family when they needed me the most. What I did was unacceptable.”

He doesn’t know what to say, how to reply. He wants to reassure her, but at the same time he doesn’t. And maybe it’s the anger rising up in him again, but he agrees with her. She shouldn’t have abandoned her family.

Thankfully though, Trisha doesn’t dwell on this. “But Zayn, that boy was amazing. He looked after his sisters, took care of them. He made sure they were fed, helped them with their homework, supported them emotionally, too. He went to all their dance recitals, football games, Waliyah’s magic shows when she was going through that phase. He was the first one Doniya told when she got her period, and he _handled it_. I didn’t even find out until a month later, when Zayn came home with the groceries and a box of tampons. He became their dad _and_ mum, seeing as though I was never around, and he never complained once. And he was just thirteen!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up as she talks about her brave son.

Niall feels the ice in his veins melt away with each word that leaves Trisha’s mouth. He feels a strong sense of pride, an overwhelming surge of respect towards Zayn. The Zayn he never knew.

“It sounds like you were very proud of him,” he offers, trying to fight the overbearing guilt gnawing at his stomach.

“Oh, I was. I still am! He’s—he’s got a very strong heart, you know? And a beautiful _beautiful_ soul,” she revels, glowing with joy.

Niall finds himself briefly wondering if his mom would’ve beamed like that because of him, if he could have ever made her this proud.

“He is…”he breathes, trying to find a word that encompasses all that he thinks of Zayn Malik, “fascinating.” But even that doesn’t quite cut it.

Trisha chuckles a little, probably at the awe-stuck look Niall has on his face. “Yeah.” Then, with a quick shake of her head as if she’s trying to get out of a trance, she starts talking again. “Anyway, so after a few months and more than a few long conversations with well-meaning friends, I started to realize that I was neglecting my own children. I cut back on work hours and started focusing more on the job which I should’ve already been doing; being a good mum. And it was the right decision, or so I thought. I didn’t realize the…adverse effects it may have.”

“After I started getting more involved, Zayn didn’t need to be as much. The girls started depending less on him and it was like—it was like he lost his purpose. He had a sort of identity crisis, and with him hitting puberty at the time, everything kind of exemplified. But like I said, Zayn took after his father, didn’t let anyone know how he was feeling. Instead he started searching relentlessly for someone, anyone that would accept him, need him, depend on him. And he found that person--in a boy. I think that was something else that added to it, you know? He started to realize that he was attracted to boys, and that that was different. The boy—Colin—he was also going through a difficult time. His family wasn’t well off, and his mom was an alcoholic. In a way, these two damaged boys found each other and tried to fix each other. But that never works. Two broken people can’t help fix each other,” she says, assuredly.

Niall feel something catch in his throat. _Two broken people can’t help fix each other_.

“Zayn became so wrapped up in Colin that nothing else mattered. He told us about him, of course. Colin would come over sometimes and he was a good boy, polite. But everyone could tell by the way Zayn looked at Colin that they were more than friends. Maybe not to Colin, but to Zayn. And the strange thing is that I don’t think Zayn ever expected him to reciprocate the feelings, either. He was just happy being needed, feeling like he could fix Colin. He’d always been like that, you know? Always liked taking care of people. That’s why he took to looking after his sisters so well. It’s like, he needs to feel some kind of fulfilment.”

With everything Trisha says, the puzzle pieces in Niall’s head slowly fall into place. Niall was Zayn’s project, the thing that Zayn needed to take care of, to _fix_. And when he realized he couldn’t fix him, that Niall was too fucked up to be saved, he left.

But apparently that wasn’t all, because Trisha keeps speaking and Niall forces himself to listen, no matter how loud the blood keeps pounding in his ears.

“Colin started to get involved with the wrong things. He needed money for food, for rent, and dealing drugs was the only way he could make enough, I guess. Zayn didn’t tell me any of this, by the way. I think he was still mad at me, about neglecting them yes, but more about taking away the only thing that mattered to him. If he’d told me, I would’ve done something; helped Colin, paid for rent once or twice until he could figure something out, anything. But I didn’t find out until after—after.”

She stops talking, but Niall knows there is more. She’s chewing on her nails, as if struggling with whether or not to finish the whole story.

“It’s okay, go on,” he urges, nodding his head at her. But Trisha just bites at her nails, eyeing Niall with a crease between her eyebrows.

Finally with a sigh, she puts her hands on top of Niall again, looking him square in the eye. “You have to understand that Zayn—he was just trying to protect Colin. He didn’t mean to do it, not really. He was only fourteen for God’s sakes, he was just scared.”

Her eyes bore into him, tears no longer held back but spilling over. They run down her face, washing away the little mascara she did have on. A look of pure desperation dominates her face; she’s begging for something, acceptance, forgiveness, he doesn’t know.

And it scares the hell out of him.

“You have to promise to not look at him differently. You have to promise that you’ll still love him. Because if this is the reason, if me telling you this, _trusting you_ with this, is what tears you two apart, I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” she pleads, her hands tightly squeezing his.

He wants to tell her that she can’t tear them apart because they’re not even together anymore. That either way, it wouldn’t matter because Zayn doesn’t want him, never _really_ wanted him. Zayn didn’t love him, he just wanted to fix Niall. He understands that now.

But he looks at Trisha, at her mascara streaked face and manic eyes, and realizes that she needs this more than him. That she needs to share this with someone before she explodes.

“I have never told anyone this, not even his sisters. I’m trusting you because I can see how much you love him. _Promise_ me, Niall.”

“I promise,” he breathes, his voice quavering just a little.

Trisha looks a slightly skeptical at his answer, almost ready to forget the whole thing.

“I promise,” he says, louder this time, more confident. He wants to know, he _needs_ to know who the person he’s been in love with for the past year and a half is.

Trisha finally lets go of his hands, her face a little more calm than it was before, but also a little more anarchic.

“Colin went to make a deal and things went awry. He called Zayn to help him get out of the situation, because he knew Zayn would find him no matter what. And Zayn should’ve been smarter, used his head, taken someone with him but _god_ he was so invested in that boy. I honestly don’t even think it was love, just some kind of mania. But he went alone, nonetheless, and he found Colin in a random alleyway. He’d been stabbed.”

Niall lets out a little gasp, thinking about the fourteen year old boy, thinking about a fourteen year old _Zayn_ having to deal with situation.

“I’m so sor--” he starts to say, but Trisha shakes her head at him with a solemn look in her eyes.

“I’m not done yet,” she tells him, bringing her thin fingers up to her temples and massaging them gently.

He just nods.

“He came back. The person that stabbed Colin before came back and Zayn was there and he tried to get at Colin again, he tried to stab him again, and Zayn just grabbed the knife and stabbed him in defence. It was all in defence. Zayn was just defending his helpless friend,” she says all in one breath, so rushed that Niall has to take time to actually process what she’s saying.

And then it hits him. Now he _really_ understands. “Did...was he okay?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer in the pit of his stomach.

Trisha’s gaze hold his and very slowly, she shakes her head. “He died, Niall. Zayn stabbed a man and he _died_.”

They just stare at each other, not knowing what to say, wondering if there is anything _left_ to say. Trisha looks straight into Niall’s eyes, trying to find answers. And Niall just looks ahead, trying to avoid her gaze as a prickling feeling jabs into his spine.

“But it was self-defence,” he says. But it’s comes out more like a question, high at the end.

She purses her lips and nods.

And finally he catches Trisha’s gaze, holding it firmly and concluding, “But it was self-defence.”

\--

Niall can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, his duvet making him too warm when he’s covered and too cold when he’s not.

His mind keeps racing with thoughts and ideas and questions. Most of all questions.

Giving up, he throws his duvet completely off and climbs out of bed, hoping a glass of warm milk will put his to sleep.

As he’s walking to his kitchen, he looks towards Zayn’s room for the first time in two months. Nothing in there had, Niall never having the strength to walk in there are clear it out. Harry had offered to help, but Niall just told him to let it be. He’d brushed it off as nothing at when Harry raised an eyebrow, as just not having the time, but he knows why it was now; he had _still_ been expecting Zayn to return.

But not anymore, not after what Trisha told him.

Suddenly, something clicks in his brain. _Trisha_.

There were pictures hanging up all over his room still. Zayn hadn’t bothered to take those with him.

Maybe, just maybe, they could point to his whereabouts.

As he walks into the room, he’s hit with a familiar scent. Spicy vanilla. _Zayn._

A strong surge of emotions and old feelings suddenly slam into him, dropping him to his knees. His heart just fucking _hurts_ , the empty cavity he’d so carefully covered up now exposed and vulnerable. Tears spill from his eyes and he’s sobbing, trying to catch his breath because everything is happening all at once and he just doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do, how to make this feeling of absolute misery and dread go away.

He misses Zayn. He misses Zayn _so_ much and he’s done lying to everyone else about it, and he’s especially done lying to himself. But now he can’t even do anything because no matter what, Zayn is _never_ coming back.

His mind flashes back to the conversation with Trisha in the coffee shops, all of Zayn’s secrets that she’s given away.

But it’s not even that, it’s not even that Zayn had killed a man. Niall is ready to overlook that, fuck, he’s _already_ forgotten about that. No, it’s about what Zayn goes through, what he went through every single day he spent with Niall and never told him about. It’s the constant fear and anxiety and torture that Zayn carries around with him that’s got Niall wanting to wretch up everything he’s eaten in the past month.

He goes through what Trisha told him again and again, trying to connect the story to the Zayn he loved, trying to attach the two different times of Zayn’s life together but he just can’t. Niall can’t bring himself to think of _his_ Zayn and the same fourteen year old Zayn who’d been brought back home in a police car that night, covered in blood and handcuffed.

It’d been three in the morning, Trisha waking only after the fourth rind of the doorbell. She’d opened the door to find Zayn, _fourteen year old Zayn_ , covered from head to toe in blood. Beside him was a police offer, looking at her as though it was the worst night of his life.

Zayn hadn’t uttered a single word the entire night, just sat there next to his mother, face frozen in a look of pure horror and disbelief. The police offer had told Trisha everything, about how they found him clutching his knees and rocking back and forth. He hadn’t said anything to them either, but thankfully Colin did. They gathered some other witnesses, shop keepers from around that saw what happened but were too terrified to go out and help.

 _“Fucking cowards_ ,” Niall thought bitterly. They were adults. If Zayn was brave enough to stab the man, they should’ve been brave enough to do _something_.

They let him go, thankfully. No court hearings, no nothing. They wanted to keep the situation hush-hush.

“Why?” Niall had asked Trisha simply out of curiosity.

“He was apparently the brother of one of the drug lords in the city. Raymond McKenna was his name, by the way, and Archie McKenna is his brother.”

The name has sounded familiar to Niall. It’s only when he got home that he realized that Archie McKenna’s name was always splattered across newspapers, always connected to some crime; but the police never had enough evident to convict him.

Zayn hadn’t come out of his room for two weeks after that. Trisha would go to give him meals, always returning to a tray of barely food. He’d just lie under his covers, speaking only to answer imperative questions, and doing so only in one-word answers.

“He was terrified of what he’d done, ashamed. How does a teenage boy deal with something like that?” Trisha had asked, Niall too stunned to even attempt and answer her.

“I kept telling him that he had to do it, that it was okay. That if he hadn’t done it, Colin would be dead right now,” Trisha had told him. “Slowly, he started leaving his room, seeing the girls, eating. I’d told the sisters he had mono, and to this day they don’t know. I don’t want to burden them with something like that, especially because they have so much respect for him. I’d never want them to lose that. In a month and a half, he even started going to school. Then he came home one day, bawling his eyes out. Apparently Colin had moved in with his dad in Sunderland or something. Social services wouldn’t let him spend another minute with his mother after all that had happened.”

Niall thinks back to his time with his social worker as she tried desperately to find him a place to stay. He had hated her back then, his eleven-year-old-self thinking that all she’d wanted to do was take him away of his home. But he was so thankful to her now because she brought him to Anne, to Harry.

“It was a tough time, but we were working through it. I got to take care of Zayn for a little bit, rather than the other way around. And gradually, everything was getting better until the day Doniya came home with a black eye. She’d been pushed around by some bullies and I was icing her up when Zayn walked through the door. He took one look at her and completely lost it. His face completely drained of colour and he started shaking and saying ‘they’ll come after you, they’ll come after all of us’ over and over again. I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. I wrapped him in a blanket and took him to a doctor right away. It took a while, a couple months to find out the problem largely because I kept what happened from them; but then I finally realized that it was related to that and I couldn’t help Zayn until I told the truth. He was diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder. It’s a mental disorder that develops after a person goes through to a really traumatic event.”

Niall had heard of that before, but mostly among war soldiers. With every word that Trisha spoke, his heart broke just a little more. It hurt him so much, pained him to even think about _his_ Zayn having to go through this.

“Zayn’s PTSD surfaced in the form of paranoia, where he believed that the gang of the man he had killed were after all and any of the people loved. Anytime it was triggered, he would act hysterical and run away, thinking that if he ran away from us then we would be safe. He would come back after a couple of days, the paranoia subsiding, but it never really left him. The first couple years after his diagnosis were the worst; he’d run off almost every week. But he started going to therapy and taking stronger medication and it got better. When he came here, actually, that was the best he’d ever been. He said he wanted to live in London, just to find out who he was without dealing with the PTSD and paranoia and stuff. And I let him go because no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t shelter him forever. And that’s how he found you.”

And then all the gears clicked in Niall’s head, the puzzle he thought he was putting turning out to not be the picture on the box at all. Instead it was much more intricate, made up of a thousand pieces instead of a hundred. Zayn had left because Niall getting mugged was the trigger, his PTSD trigger. He thought by staying, the gang members would come after Niall.

“He left because he wanted to protect me,” he’d finally realized, lifting his eyes to meet Trisha’s. And Trisha had just smiled back, glad that she could clear up her son’s name, that she could explain his painful story.

“He’d told me that it was really them, that it was really the gang members. Now that I think about it, it doesn’t even make sense that believed him. I just wanted him to be better so badly. I wanted to believe he was better, that he didn’t need therapy or medication anymore that I’d succeeded as a mother. I wanted to succeed as a mother to such a degree that I instead ignored all the signs and ended up making him worse!” Trisha had cried out, sobbing into her hands.

Niall had tried to comfort her, but she’d made up her mind already. She had failed as a mother to Zayn and the only way she could fix it would be by bringing him and Niall together.

But what she’d said at the beginning, about Zayn and Colin, that had resonated with Niall to the depths of his heart.

 _“Two broken people can’t help fix each other_.”

Niall, he was already so broken. A time bomb ready to explode at any point. And Zayn was the same. Zayn could never be better with Niall around. In fact, he’d be worse off. One time bomb makes the other one go off too, doesn’t it?  

So even if he found Zayn, even if he still wanted Niall back, Niall understood now that they weren’t good for each other, that he wasn’t good for Zayn.

It’s as he’s lying on this cold hardwood floor wet with his tears and looking up at the pictures are plastered on the walls, that Niall finally realizes he has to let Zayn Malik go.

It’s also when he realizes that he knows exactly where Zayn is.

\--

 

Follow me on [Tumblr](http://pointniall.tumblr.com/)! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo....the next update will probably be pretty late (SORRY) because finals, xmas season, narry fic exchange,etc. BUT I will try to get something up by the end of the year (I'm pretty tight with deadlines, obviously)
> 
> THANKS FOR READING! <3
> 
> \--b


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a year since I updated....and I have absolutely no excuse. Like, none other than the fact that I didn't know where to go from where I'd left it off at. 
> 
> BUT I stumbled through it. I wrote almost to the end, stopped writing for about four months, deleted everything I wrote because it sucked, but finally stumbled through it. I'm battered and bruised with the scars to prove it, but I've _finished_.
> 
> I'm satisfied now. Hopefully (if anyone's even stuck around still), you all are satisfied too. 
> 
> Lastly, I'm sorry for being this shitty shitty shitty writer who leaves the story unfinished and updates it a year later. 
> 
> Please leave comments and let me know how mad you are at me.
> 
> Lots of love ,  
> B <3 
> 
> PS: Unbeta'd bc no one loves me.

“Are you sure about this?” Trisha asks Niall.

To be honest, he’s not. And he tells her that. “I’m not 100% sure, no. But, it makes sense. And it’s the best we’ve got.”

She hesitates, trying to make sense of Niall’s idea. “Sunderland, though? You think Colin’s still there?”

Niall tells her about his visit to Zayn’s room, and about the collage on his wall that weren’t just of pictures but also of postcards. “They didn’t say much, just a ‘hey’ or ‘how’ve you been’, but they were all from Sunderland. Some old, a few pretty recent.”

“Can’t believe they kept in touch all these years. I wonder why he never told me,” Trisha ponders. Niall could guess why Zayn had kept it a secret, but he refrained from bestowing that information to her. There is no reason to hurt her more. “Why do you think he’d go to Colin, though? After all this time?”

“Because he’s scared. And he needs someone he can trust. Plus, the postcards tell him exactly where to find Colin. It makes the most sense,” he explains his theory, praying that it sounds as plausible out loud as it does in his head.

She pauses for a while, contemplating his idea. “Okay. When do you want to leave?”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” he answers quickly, having already thought this through before calling her.

“Can you drive? I can’t leave the girls without a car,” she tells him.

Shit. “No, I actually can’t drive. Never thought I would need to, living in the city and all. But, I know someone who can.”

He hears Trisha take in a sharp breath. “I’m not really sure I’m comfortable with involving more people in this, Niall.”

“It’s the only option we’ve got,” he tries to reason with her.

“We only tell them what they need to know. Nothing about Raymond or Archie,” she regulates.

“Yes okay, that’s fine,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip.

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning then.” And with that, she hangs up the phone. Niall finally breathes out a sigh of relief, thankful that Trisha chose to follow this whimsical plan of his. But he knows she wants to find Zayn as much as he does, he knows she’s willing to try anything too.

Then, he starts dialing another number. As it’s ringing, he tries to think of what exactly to say. There’s a click and a hoarse, “Hello?”

With a deep breath Niall says, “Liam? I need your help.”

\--

All three are over in less than five minutes. And they’re all talking at once.

“Niall, what the hell!” Louis is saying.

“You’re acting juvenile. Seeing his mom is just bringing up old feelings…” Harry is trying to explain

“I don’t know about this, Niall,” Liam is trying to reason.

“Lads. LADS!” Niall shouts, trying to get everyone to just shut the fuck up and listen for a second

They all stop talking mid-sentence and turn towards him. He looks at each of them square in the eye, confident and sure.

“I can’t exactly say what or why, but I need to find Zayn. He’s in trouble and I can help,” he says all of this very slowly, making sure they all understand him.

“Why can’t you explain more?” Louis asks, skepticism blatant on his face.

“Because I made a promise,” he states, simple and straight.

Harry doesn’t look impressed with his answer at all. “Look, Niall you’re naive—”

But Niall has had enough of being treated like a fragile child who can’t look after himself. He holds up a finger to silence Harry, cutting him off. “Look Haz, I know I can be a mess. I break easily and I’m so emotionally damaged that Jerry Springer can run an entire season based on my life alone. But I’m also a grown man that needs to learn to take care of himself. I appreciate everything you lads have done for me, I really truly do. And I love you. So, this time I need you all to trust me and believe what I am doing is for the better good. Maybe not my own good entirely, but it is for the better good.”

No one says anything for a while, just exchanging looks between each other. Then Harry finally breaks the silence. “When do we leave?”

\--

Trisha does not look impressed to find that there are two additional to the extra person Niall said was essential.

“I’m sorry, they all wanted to come,” he apologizes.

“Why do they _all_ have to come though? It’s not a school field trip!” she cries, eyes flitting to the trio currently preparing breakfast.

Niall takes Trisha’s hands in his own, figuring out yesterday that this was a gesture that really got to her. “When Zayn left, I fell apart completely. They helped me get my act together and it was hard for them too. They just don’t want to see it happen again.”

Trisha closes her eyes in defeat and smiles a small smile. “They’re your family.”

Niall smiles back, looking over at the three idiot fighting over bacon. “They’re my family.”

\--

“God, how far is this Sunderland? It feels like we’ve been driving for four days!” Louis whines for the seventh time. Niall’s been counting.

Trisha throws a look of pure irritation towards him, and Niall has to bite the inside of his cheek from laughing. Not because it’s funny, but because the air is so fucking tense and laughing is Niall’s twisted way of dealing with stress.

Harry places a hand on Niall’s knee, squeezing lightly. He knows Niall doesn’t deal with stress well.

“Stop whining or I’ll drop you off right here,” Liam warns from the driver’s seat. That shuts Louis up for a good five minutes before he starts squealing about having to take a piss.

Niall sighs, shoving headphones into his ears and watching as the town pass by. He tries not to think about what will happen if they do find Zayn in Sunderland. He tries not to think about what he’ll say, what he’ll do. He tries really hard, but he fails anyway. 

\--

They’re parked outside a small white house, Niall re-reading the address on the postcard for the seventeenth time.

“This is then?” Harry asks, his green eyes searching Niall’s face. Everyone is looking at him, waiting for his confirmation.

Niall nods slowly. “That’s the address on the latest postcard.”

They all turn to Trisha now, expectantly, but she’s looking at him with a strange expression. She looks scared. Scared, unsure, exhausted.

“What’s wrong, Trisha?” he asks her slowly.

She sighs deeply, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. “What if he’s not here Niall? What if he’s not here and I have to go back to Bradford again and tell his sisters that I couldn’t find him? That I failed as a mother again? This is our only hope, our last hope. If he’s not here I just—I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “You won’t know for sure until you ring the doorbell, Trisha.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“You have my number. We’ll go wait at a coffee shop or something. Give me a ring when you’re done,” he tells her.

“What do you mean when I’m done?” she asks in bewilderment. “You’re coming with me.”

“I—uhm—I don’t think that’s a very good idea…” he tells her honestly.

She guffaws at him, shaking her head. “No—no you’re coming with me.”

“Trisha—”, he tries to argue but he’s cut off by a raise of her eyebrow.

“You’re coming,” she says in finality.

He looks at Harry for back up, but he’s just blinking just back at Niall with an unreadable expression.

“Fine. Alright. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice anyway,” he gives in with a shrug. “Guess I’ll ring one of you lads when we’re done then.”

\--

They make their way up to the front door in silence, Niall staring at nowhere else but the ground. His heat is beating fast and every inch of his skin prickling with anxiety.

When they reach the door, Trisha looks at him with question. “Ready?”

And he wants to laugh because no, he’s definitely not fucking ready. His hands are sweaty, his legs are numb and he has to keep telling himself to breathe normally.

He nods anyway.

Trisha knocks on the door with three short and confident raps.

\--

The door opens with a boy shouting, “Don’t know why I gave you key mate, you never fucking use it.”

But then his realizes he doesn’t recognize the people standing there. “I’m sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine. Uhm, can I help you?”

“Hi Colin,” Trish says, stepping in front of Niall. “I don’t know if you remember me—”

But her sentence is cut off as the boy’s eyes widen with recognition. “Mrs. Malik?”

She nods back, smiling. “I’m sorry to show up at your door so unannounced but Zayn’s been missing and this is such a long shot but I know you two have been writing to each other and I was just—I was wondering if you’ve heard anything from him?” she finishes all in one breath. Niall can hear the desperation in her voice, the desperation that is seizing every vein in his body right now.

Colin blinks back, looking slightly overwhelmed and perplexed. He starts to say something, but then stops.

“Please, Colin. If you know something please tell me. I need to see him, I need to see my son,” she begs, her voice cracking.

Colin’s arm drops from the door and he look at Trisha for long time before answering. “He’s gone out for a bit, he’ll be back soon.”

Niall’s heart drops and relief floods throughout his body. Trisha look at his and her face splits into the biggest grin he’s even seen. “We found him, Niall! You found him!”

Tears flood her face and his, but she starts laughing and he joins her. Then she throws her arms around his shoulder and he hugs her back, reveling in this joy that he knows won’t last very long for him. He’s just happy knowing that Zayn’s safe, and he helped a mother reunite with her son. He’s happy even though he knows he’s going to have to watch Zayn leave again, breaking his heart a little more with each step he takes.

\--

They’re in Colin’s living room, sitting on the sofa as he hands each of them a cup of tea.

“I apologize for everything I have put your family through, Mrs. Malik. If I hadn’t dragged Zayn into my mess of a life, he would’ve been fine. You wouldn’t have had to go through this.”

Trisha sips her tea, taking some time before she talks. “You’re right. Zayn was just a kid, but so were you. You were just trying to take care of your mom. I—I did blame you for a long time, Colin, I won’t lie. But really it wasn’t your fault. Zayn was going through things way before you came along. At the least, this way he made a lifelong friend.”

Niall applauds her, this strong woman. His eyes flit to the Colin and Niall wants to hate this boy, he really _really_ does. He’s the one that put Zayn through all this bullshit. He’s the reason that Zayn is broken, that he’s hurting. But his eyes look too sincere, too loving and Niall just—can’t.

Then suddenly, Colin’s looking at him. “You’re Niall.” It’s a statement. He knows.

Niall nods even though he doesn’t have to.

Colin gives him a small smile. “Zayn talks about you a lot.”

And Niall’s heart just keeps on breaking. He swallows a lump in his throat and shrugs it off. “I wish I could say the same about you.”

He hadn’t meant for it to be malicious, but Colin looked a little struck. And usually Niall would try to fix such misunderstandings but today, he’s just too tired to care.

No one says anything for a bit, just sipping from their mugs and avoiding each other’s eyes. Colin tries to make another attempt at conversation but then stops suddenly because they all hear it at once—the drop of the lock.

It all happens to quickly. One minute Niall is staring at the maple-stained wood of the front door and the next minute he’s staring at Zayn’s perfectly chiselled jaw.

_God, he’s so fucking beautiful._

Zayn sees them right away; his eyes stretch wide and his mouth falls open as he stands there just gaping at them.

“Wha—“ but before he even gets one word out, Trisha is walking up to him. Niall thinks she’s going to throw her arms around him, kiss him on the cheek maybe, but she doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she slaps him.

 _Hard_.

If Zayn wasn’t stunned before, he sure isnow. “Ma?”

“Zayn Javadd Malik I am so angry at you I cannot even think straight,” she hollers at him, panting. And then, _then_ , she wraps her arms around his slender torso and pulls him into a hug. “We were so worried, baby. You can’t just run off like that.”

And then he’s hugging her back, tears running down his face. “I know. I’m so sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well—I wasn’t thinking.”

Trisha holds on to him, tight and desperate, scared that if she lets go he’s going to run again. But as she tentatively—and very slowly—starts loosen her embrace, Zayn’s amber eyes snap to Niall and drill straight into his soul.   

“Niall,” Zayn croaks, a weak smile on his lips.

“Hey, Zayn.”

Niall’s heart all but rips into shreds.

\--

Zayn talks for a little bit, telling them what he’s been up to. He apologizes, mainly to Trisha, but his eyes flick to Niall once in a while too. But Niall avoids his gaze every time, looking instead at his hands or Trisha.

“You’re here to take me home, aren’t you?” Zayn asks suddenly. Niall can tell he’s looking at him, but he just picks at his nails and refuses to meet Zayn’s eye.

“We have to go home, Zayn,” Trisha tells him and Zayn sighs deeply; but he doesn’t disagree.

“It’s time,” Colin agrees and Niall thinks that under different circumstances, he would’ve like the guy.

A little over an hour later, after Zayn has packed up his things and Niall has called Liam to pick them up, they wait out at the front porch as Zayn says goodbye to Colin.

“Thanks for everything, man. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Niall hears Zayn say. He is purposely facing away from them.

“After what I’ve put you through, consider it a small part of my penance,” Colin tells him.

He hears them lightly argue over this and just as Zayn is making Collin promise to visit, Liam’s silver Corolla pulls up into the driveway.

Harry gets out for some reason, quickly looking back and forth between Zayn and Niall. Then he says, “We have a problem.”

Niall sighs. They were so close. “What?”

“Well, we obviously don’t have enough room in the car.”

Niall chuckles because _of course_. How could they ever have missed that fucking detail?

With a quick nod to Harry, he says, “I’ll take care of it.”

Niall walks over to Trisha who’s got a very curious look on her face. When he tells her the problem, she just smiles. “So I was thinking that two out of the five of us are going to have to take a taxi? And since two people are going to the same place—“

But it’s Trisha. And she never listens to what Niall says. “So then it’s settled. You and Zayn will share a car.”

Niall is dumbstruck. “No, Trisha. You’re taking Zayn back to Bradford, aren’t you?”

Trisha shrugs. “I don’t know. Depends on where he wants to go.” She’s really smiling now and Niall remembers that she wanted him and Zayn to get back together all along.

Niall shakes his head. “Trisha I really don’t think—“

But then she touches his arm and looks at him with her sparkling brown eyes and he shuts up. Damn these Maliks and their fucking _eyes_. “Look, Niall. I think the only reason Zayn even agreed to come back is because you came to get him. He ran _away_ from me, remember?”

“He ran away from me too,” Niall says softly. Trisha nods, smiles at him again, and then gets into Liam’s car. Liam gives him a questioning look and Niall nods, letting them know that it’s okay—he’s _okay._

As he watches Liam drive away, he thinks how easy it has become for him to lie to his friends.

Mustering as much energy and courage he can find, he turns to Zayn. Zayn’s already looking at him, his eyes not moving from Niall’s face for even a second. He’s not even blinking.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey.” It’s taking everything Niall has to not run up and crash his lips into Zayn’s. “Guess were sharing a ride.”

Niall dials a taxi company and waits. Zayn steps a little closer. Niall stays silent. He steps even closer. Then, long, bony fingers softly touch his thick, calloused ones and a current runs up his arm—and straight to his heart.

“Don’t,” he spits. Zayn’s hands drop immediately. Niall doesn’t want to do this. He wants to hold Zayn’s hand, he wants to bury his head in Zayn’s shoulders and take him back home and fuck until they both can’t walk. But he _can’t._

_Two broken people can’t fix each other._

He had let Zayn go on that apartment floor yesterday (at least that’s what he keeps telling himself).

Zayn starts talking, which surprises Niall. His voice is raw and strained and he can tell Zayn’s trying very hard not to cry.

“I know you’re mad. You have every right to be. I had— _have_ problems. Problems I should have told you about a long time ago,” he says.

Niall just nods. “You’re right, you should have. But it’s too late now, Zayn.”

But instead of flinching away like Niall had hoped, Zayn steps closer, titling Niall’s face up slightly to meet his eyes. And Niall would have be torn apart by this gesture had he already not been shredded enough.  

“It’s not too late. I _love_ you, Niall Horan. I _love_ you so much I can’t breathe.” The first time Zayn says he loves Niall and he can’t even say it back, no matter how much he wants to. 

Niall pushes Zayn’s hands away, not angrily because he doesn’t want to portray anger. He wants Zayn to see that he’s apathetic, that he’s indifferent.

He looks at Zayn straight in the eyes and as cooly as he can he says, “But I _don’t._ I don’t love you anymore, Zayn.”

Niall watches as Zayn’s face crumbles just as their taxi pulls up. They get in quietly on opposite sides, Zayn avoiding Niall’s gaze and Niall longing for Zayn’s.

After about five minutes, Zayn quietly asks, “Then why did you come at all today?” 

Niall closes his eyes, focusing very carefully on what he says next. “I thought you were dead.”

\--

“You thought I was dead?” Zayn’s voice is brimmed with hurt and he’s looking at Niall with so much pain that it stabs Niall right through the heart.

Niall nods, just twice. He keeps his tone calm and detached. “Well, I didn’t know what to think at first. I thought you’d just left. But then your mother came looking for you and I thought ‘well if he hasn’t talked to his own mother, so he must be dead.’”

Zayn just keeps staring at him and Niall focuses too hard on keep his expression neutral.

“Then why did you come looking?”

Niall sighs, closing his eyes. He’s so exhausted. Too much has happened in one day and he doesn’t want to spend any more energy keeping this stupid façade up. But he’s not good for Zayn and if he really loves him, he needs to not be selfish for once in his life.

So he swallows hard and grits, “Because your mother would not leave me the fuck alone until I did. God, that woman is so _annoying._ I thought it would shut her up.” Niall wants to puke.

Zayn takes a sharp breath beside him. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about my mother like that again,” he spits, throwing daggers at Niall. The look is so sharp that Niall feels it across his cheek.

It’s silent again for a while. Niall is trying so hard not to break down, not to throw his arms around Zayn and never let go. Then Zayn sighs, his gaze finally falling in defeat. “Fucking hell, Niall, when did you get so cold?” he whispers. It’s not malicious, not even a little bit. He just sounds sad.

Niall guffaws at him, rolling his eyes. “After you left, I realized what a right fucking idiot I was. Fixed myself up, didn’t I? God I was so pathetic. You were so pathetic. And I’m sorry if this offends you but I’m so fucking glad you left. I finally got my shit together. So thank you, Zayn, really.”

Niall doesn’t even know who this person is. Maybe this is the person he wishes he was. Calm, cool, collected. Cold, surly, apathetic. Maybe then he wouldn’t have so many emotions trying to drown him.

He hears Zayn take short breaths next to him, but he can’t bring himself to look. It hurts too much.

“You’re welcome, Niall. I’m happy you got yourself together. I truly truly am,” Zayn says.

And that’s what absolutely _wrecks_ him because he can tell Zayn genuinely means it.

\--

He arrives back at his flat, exhausted and raw, and he wants nothing else but to shuffle under three blankets and cry himself to sleep.

But his friends are too fucking wonderful to let him do that. Fuck them.

As soon as he turns the doorknob, the three jump to their feet and race towards him. But then they see his face and abruptly stop.

“Niall?” Liam tries, hesitantly.

They’re all looking at him, eyes wide and full of worry. He feels sick to his stomach. Why does he always have to do this? Why does he always hurt the people he loves?

And then suddenly everything comes crashing down, too heavy for him to bear, and his legs give away. They all run to him at once. He’s sobbing, hard. They all watch as tears pour down his face, as he heaves uncontrollably gasping for air every few seconds.

Liam and Louis look to Harry, and Harry shakes his head as if to say _“Just let him cry it out.”_

They all watch, their hearts breaking as Niall falls apart on the living room floor. A half hour goes by, then an hour. Everyone’s rooted in their spots. Then Niall starts to slow down, hiccupping slightly and lifting his head to look at his friends.

Harry nods slightly, just once, and they all fall to their knees around him. Harry is rubbing his back, Liam is giving him tissues and Louis helps him up.

“What do you want to do, Niall? It’s your call,” Harry tells him soothingly.

Niall lets out a deep sigh. “I just want to sleep.”

\--

When Niall wakes up the next morning, he’s alone. It’s actually a little surprising considering how overinvolved his friends are.

Doesn’t last very long though because soon enough, there’s a knock on his door.

“Niall?” Of course it’s Harry. It’s always Harry.

“I’m awake, Haz,” he shouts.

There’s a bit of shuffling and the door creaks open. Harry walks into the room, a big smile on his pretty face and a tray of food in his arms.

“Chocolate chip pancakes doused in syrup and bacon very lightly cooked,” he announces proudly, gesturing to the spread on the plate. “And of course, coffee.”

Niall chuckles. “What would I ever do without you and your stupid face?”

Harry shrugs, all nonchalant. “Probably wither and die.”

He nods in agreement. “Probably.” Harry is kidding, Niall’s not.

Niall digs in right away, and to his credit, Harry does wait for him to almost clear of his plate. But of course it’s Harry and of course he wants Niall to talk about it. “Want to talk about it?”

This time though, Niall actually does. He nods, swallowing his mouth full of food quickly before he loses the courage.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I put you through. And not just you. Liam and Louis too,” Niall apologizes.

Harry looks at him incredulously. “You’re…sorry?”

He nods back. “Well, yeah. You guys are always so worried about me and it must be exhausting, having to take care of me so much.”

And that’s when Harry smacks him sideways over the head. “What the actual _fuck?_ You’re apologizing to us for _caring_ about you? Who the fuck do you think you are. I will worry about whoever the fuck I want to worry about. And so will Liam and Louis.”

Niall gapes at him. “B-but—but—“

“Niall, we’re not doing you a favour by caring about you. Us worrying is just as much selfish because we get hurt when you get hurt. So pull your head out of your pale, Irish arse and tell me what the fuck happened yesterday,” Harry huffs, his face red and hair wild.

Niall sputters, not understanding what’s happening. Never in the ten years that Niall has known Harry, has he shown this kind of “tough love”. But then again, maybe that’s exactly what Niall needed because it’s only then he realizes how stupid he was, apologizing to his own brother for _caring_ about him. He was a fucking idiot.

And he’s just too tired of lying, of bottling everything, of pretending to be okay. “Two broken people can’t fix each other. Zayn told me he loved me but two broken people can’t fix each other, Harry. I love him so fucking much but I don’t want him to stay broken.” Niall doesn’t even explain, not really. But Harry just _gets_ it, he _gets_ Niall and he doesn’t know why he didn’t tell Harry before.

He’d probably cry but he’s tired of that too. He’s tired of being so weak, so fragile. And it’s like Harry reads his mind because the next thing he asks is, “How about you?”

Niall shakes his head at him. “How about me what?”

“ _Two_ broken people, Niall. Zayn’s not the only one that needs help,” he says gently, softly stroking the blonde’s hand.

Niall nods because he finally _finally_ gets it. “I don’t want to stay broken either.”

And Harry knows he probably shouldn’t push it anymore, but he does anyway. He does because Niall’s doing this for the right reasons. “For him?”

Niall gaze drops and he nods. Harry can feel his heart breaking. But then Niall’s blue eyes are looking back at him, a small but strong smile on Niall’s lips. And then he says “But for me, too.”

Harry’s heart feels like it’s going to explode with joy.

\--

His heart is beating fast and he’s nervous. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s done this, hell he’s done this so many times he’s not track, but it’s still hard. He looks over at the crowd and sees his very own three idiots sitting in the front row grinning back at him.

“It happened five years ago. His name was Donny and he was a lot older than I was…” as he spoke, he looked out at his crowd. There are all kinds people here, from teenage boys to old women. But they all have one look in common; hollowness. He knows that look all too well, used to see it every time he looked into the mirror.

But they’re here. And that’s what matters.

They call themselves SSG, Survivor Support Group. It’s a network across the country, but the London one is their most prominent branch. Niall volunteers there as a counsellor.

When he’s done, people clap. The clap is half dead and mostly obligatory, but that’s expected. No one wants to applaud this experience, especially when they know what kind of special hell it is. But applause isn’t the reason Niall does this anyway. He just wants people to feel comfortable with them.

“Okay, now I’m going to have to ask all friends and family to depart. We really appreciate all your love and support, but this is something we need to do on our own,” he speaks into the microphone. He watches as people look nervously to their companions. Watches as hands get held a little tighter and faces get a little paler. He watches as some companions wave goodbye and exit the auditorium. He smiles down at the people looking nervously at him, to let them know it’s okay. He watches as some people leave with their companions, not quite ready for something like this. He smiles at them as well, to let them know that that’s okay too.

“Great. George over there is going to help put our chairs into a circle and after everyone takes a seat. We’ll start sharing,” he tells them and a few nod back. A hand goes up in the air. It’s a woman with long brown hair and sunken eyes. “And yes, it’s okay if you don’t want to share. You can just listen for today.” She gives him a soft smile, almost a ‘thanks for understanding’ kind one.

They are start to shuffle towards where George is arranging the chairs. Some even try and help him. But there is still one thing Niall has left to say. “Just another thing before we start. I want to know how proud I am of every single one of you. And that none of you are broken.”

\--

The session went great. Niall is happy. A few of the newer people opened up, finally getting a little comfortable. One person even came up after the group share was over and said that she’d just given a great interview, thanks to Niall teaching her to believe that she wasn’t flawed.

He’s humming some tune as he steps into the elevator, excited to call and tell Harry about the session as soon as he’s in is car.

Just as the elevator doors are closing he hears a, “Hey! Catch the door!” He jams his foot in the middle immediately.

It’s when the elevator doors slide back open that all the air inside his lungs disappear.

“Z—Zayn?”

The raven haired boy smirks back at him, looking as sexy as ever in a soft grey cashmere sweater and glasses. “Thanks mate. Not many nice ones like you left.”

Niall just gapes unabashedly, his mouth hanging open. “What?”

Zayn’s fully grinning now, his nose scrunching up in that adorable way that Niall loves. Even after two years of not seeing him, Niall’s heart still fills up with just as much endearment. “Apparently my mom and Harry are Facebook friends.”

And that sentence explains almost everything.

\--

They’re sitting in a coffee house, apparently one of Zayn’s favourite ever since he moved back to the city.

“And when did that happen, exactly?” Niall asks, stirring his hot chocolate with a spoon.

“When did I move back to London? Uhm, a little over three months ago? I got a great job at this graphic design company,” he tells Niall, beaming.

He looks happy. Really happy.

“And you?” Zayn asks, taking a sip of his chai tea.

“Well I never left the city,” Niall teases, sniggering slightly.

Zayn just rolls his eyes. “I meant at the SSG.”

Niall swallows, trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach from flying out. “I joined as a member two years ago. And then the counsellor thing really only started a little over four months ago.”

Zayn tilts his head slightly, his amber eyes scanning Niall. “Do you like it?”

He nods back more than enthusiastically. “Absolutely love it.”                                                         

“I’m glad,” Zayn states with a quick nod at his tea. “I’m really glad.”

Niall’s heart is beating fast and he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing thickly, he asks, “Why are you here, Zayn?”

Zayn looks up at him, confused. “I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah but the last time we saw each other, I insulted your mom and called you pathetic,” he reminds him. Not that he wants to.

Zayn snorts at him. “Well, firstly, I _was_ a littlepathetic. And secondly, did you not think I would go home and talk to my mom? She literally raved about you as soon as I got back and I knew right away that you’d lied to me.”

Niall shakes his head in defeat. He never was a very good liar. “How is Trisha?” he asks.

“Good. Really good,” he answers. “Glad to have her son back.”

Niall gulps, scared to ask what he really wants to. But he needs to know. “And you? You’ve…gotten better?”

Zayn combs his fingers through his hair, a little nervous. “I have. I started giving therapy a real go a couple years ago and it’s been working very well. I’m still not 100%, but it’s been very good. And it’s all thanks to you.”  

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”

He nods. “That day, after you said all those things, I started to really think about what I wanted. I went home that night and talked to Ma for hours. We talked about the girls, her, you. We talked about you a lot. And then we both decided that I needed to get better. I needed to get better for me, but I needed to get better for everyone else too. You gave me the wake-up call I really needed.”

Niall’s heart floods with warmth and even though that was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do in his entire life, at least now he knows that it paid off.

“You don’t know how happy that makes me,” Niall gushes, smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

Zayn shrugs slightly, smiling coyly back. “Might have a bit of an idea.”

They both sip their drinks in silence for a while, not sure how to bring up the one question that both of them have burning on the tip of their tongues.

“So if you knew where I was for three months, what took you so long?” Niall asks as non-maliciously as he can. He’s really just curious.  

Zayn bites his lip, eyes falling down on his hands. “I was afraid.”

And Niall gets it. Hesitantly, he places one his hands over Zayn’s on the table, not sure how much he’s allowed to push just yet. But Zayn doesn’t flinch, so he figures this is okay. “Well, no matter how long it took, I’m so happy you came.”

This seems to give Zayn just that push he needed because it’s then that he blurts out. “What does this mean for us?”

Niall is slightly taken back even though this is exactly what he wanted to ask “As in—?”

Zayn just nods curly. “As in.”

And then he says what exactly he wants to say since they’ve sat down. “We can’t pick up where we left off.”

Zayn’s face goes bright red. “I—uhm. Okay,” he says flatly. Niall wants to laugh.

“No—no. I mean we can’t _just_ pick up where we left off,” he tries again.

Zayn looks at him blankly. “What?”

Niall licks his lips, his hands twisted into each other in his lap. “I think we should start over instead.”

The brunette nods his head slowly, urging Niall to go on. So he does. “When we started—whatever we started, neither of us were in a positive head space. It was intense and all-consuming and not healthy at all. I guess I just want—I just want to know that what we have is real. And that it wasn’t a self-destructive thing we clung to.”

Zayn takes a deep breath. His face is unreadable and Niall braces himself. Then, he smirks. “Hey sweetcheek’s, name’s Zayn,” he says with a wink.

Niall sputters his coffee, not believing the scene unfolding in front him. Zayn just cocks an eyebrow and stars expectantly at Niall. Well, if he wants to play it that way then, “Call me sweetcheeks again and I’ll pull out all your teeth with grade A, industrial plyer. But other than that, my name’s Niall.”

They’re both stupidly grinning at each other across the coffee table. “Hey Niall. So, I know you aren’t supposed to tell random strangers this but…I think I might love you a little bit.”

Niall snorts. “I think you might just be too lonely,” he replies snarkily.

But Zayn keeps trying. “You’re right. Would you help me out with that? Let’s say, this Saturday night?”

And Niall can feel his heart falling through his stomach, falling for this chestnut-eyed beauty of a boy all over again.

\--

_ Epilogue _

He’s the most beautiful thing Niall’s ever seen. Bright green eyes, a shock of black fair falling messily over his forehead, lips rubbed absolutely red. He reminds Niall so much of Harry.

“God, I love him already,” he whispers, swallowing thickly. He’s so nervous, his palms sweating and fingertips prickly.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting.

“He’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t he?” Zayn says, smiling softly as they watch him through the glass.

Niall nods, intertwining his fingers with his husband’s. His palms are sweaty too and Niall chuckles softly. “Scared?”

Zayn puffs up his cheeks and blows out fast. “Terrified.”

Niall gives Zayn’s hand a little squeeze to let him know that he understands. “Christ, thought it was just me.”

They watch him for a few moments longer. “You sure about this?” Zayn asks, leaning into him slightly.

Niall looks over at his husband, his eyes sparkling at child in front of them. He hasn’t told Zayn this but when Zayn has initially brought up the idea, Niall wasn’t convinced. But he’d looked so hopeful, spreading out all the adoption brochures in front of him and talking very very quickly. He’d talked to Harry, Anne, and then finally to Zayn. He hadn’t realized it before but he wanted this just as much as (maybe even more) than Zayn did.

He wanted a family.

“This is probably the only thing I’ve ever been the most sure of in my entire life,” Niall admits.

Zayn nudges him, gasping mockingly. “Even me?”

He turns to his husband, giving him a pointed look. “Especially you.”

Just then a lady in a beige pant suit comes out. “Niall Horan and Zayn Malik?” she asks them.

They both step forward. “That’s us. I’m Zayn,” he says as he offers a handshake.

“Hi. I’m Gina Mendez. Lily wanted to be here but her son got sick so I’m here to see through the transition today,” she explains as she shakes Zayn’s hand.

Niall steps up, holding out his hand too. “I’m Niall. Does Lily not being here today create any issues?” he asks nervously. Lily was the social worker they’d been working with throughout the adoption problem.

Gina thankfully shakes her head. “No, not at all. The paperwork is all taken care of, background checks all fulfilled, and everything’s already been worked through the system. Sebastian is ready to come home with you.”

Niall and Zayn smile at each other, eyes slightly welling.

“Right this way,” Gina tells them, pointing towards the door she emerged from. “He’s very excited to meet you.”

With one last look at each other, they intertwine their hands and walk through the door. As soon as they enter the room, Sebastian’s large green eyes turn to them. He evaluates them for a second, looking between Niall and Zayn. Then, he smiles.

Of course he has dimples.

\--

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave comments/kudos, they mean a whole lot (like a whole lot)!


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